


The Sensation of Falling

by rocket_dreaming3D



Series: Flying in Reverse [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), DCU (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, DC comics - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marvel Comics - Freeform, Smut, age gap, probable smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocket_dreaming3D/pseuds/rocket_dreaming3D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick decides to start down his own path as the vigilante Nightwing after a powerful falling out with his adoptive father Bruce Wayne (aka Batman). Dealing with heavy emotional issues he hunts down the mercenary known as Deathstroke (Slade Wilson), searching for either proof of his worth or a way to end it all. What happens when he finds that there are more layers to the merc than he'd ever seen in his time as the Boy Wonder, Robin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is a little different than the other stuff I've done, so I hope it goes well! I'm kind of crossing over the DC/Marvel line to include Deadpool and Spiderman, Wade Wilson staring as Slade's brother. :) Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Also, just so everyone knows, I have a friend who may or may not be somewhat dyslexic and just has a hard time reading, and I'm doing audio files of the chapters for him, so if you would like access to those for any reason, feel free to email me at the email I have listed on my profile and I'll add you to a list and send those out to you as well. :)

The first time Nightwing actively sought out the mercenary known as Deathstroke he wasn't sure what exactly it was that he was looking for. It was the first time he would face the merc as Nightwing and without the assistance of his ex-partner. Batman had always been the one to take the brunt of the fighting, done most of the work. It had almost been more of a showdown between the two older men than it was between two partner vigilantes and a well known killer. 

The headlines had never read "Robin vs. Deathsroke, Hero Saves the Day". It had always been "Batman Saves the City from Clutches of Terrorist". So, on that night, what exactly was he looking for when it was he who picked the fight with the mercenary? Was he looking to make a name for himself? Was there some unsettled debt that Deathstroke wasn't aware of? Was he committing suicide by mercenary? Was that it? Did he want to die? He found himself confronting the terrible truth that he himself didn't know the answer to the question. This didn't stop him from surging forward with everything he had. 

It wasn't a huge shock to either of the men when, despite his best efforts, Nightwing fell to the ground in an overwhelming defeat. He found himself still wondering, as he gazed up at the older man, who held his gun at the ready, no doubt trained at a well picked spot between his eyes, if the bullet he was about to receive to the frontal lobe of his brain was, in fact, what he had come for. He gazed down the barrel of the gun with an emptiness washing over him, leaving him feeling sick to his stomach. Whether that had been his intent or not, it was becoming clear that it was Deathstroke's, and that was the only intent that mattered at the moment. 

Slowly he raised his eyes past the barrel of the gun to peer into the impenetrable darkness of the single eye-hole in the mercenary's mask. In previous encounters the hole had made him think of that old quote he'd heard a few times about 'staring into the void' and 'it staring back into you'. It had unnerved him when he was younger, feeling as though the eye behind the darkness was peering right through him. That night, he thought, it was different, because there was finally nothing left to peer through. 

Perhaps the man behind the gun realized this and thought so as well. As the gun lowered Nightwing felt a surge of desperation flow through him and he had to fight back the desperate plea for death that nearly burst through his lips. Deathstroke shook his head, his deep, somewhat metallic voice cutting through the cold night air between them the way his sword would cut through flesh. 

"I don't kill on command unless I'm being paid."

As he watched the outline of the man's body armor disappear into the darkness, Dick Grayson could feel the dampness of his tears soaking into his mask, his throat tearing under the heavy sobs that followed Deathstroke in his wake. 

Slade Wilson had walked away from far louder and far more unearthly cries than that of the budding vigilante. But that night he recognized something within the echoes that he found far too familiar for comfort. 

Much to his dismay the night would haunt him for years to come.


	2. Looking for Someone to Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly half a year has passed since Nightwing sought out Deathstroke. Since then he's faced off with the mercenary regularly. It would seem that Dick is looking for someone to help him through the emotional repercussions of leaving the dynamic duo.

"Will you never get tired of scraping yourself off the pavement at the end of the night?" Deathstroke droned, his voice bored, as he watched the young man in front of him struggle to his feet once again. "I'm getting tired of this childish game." He turned and started walking away. 

"Don't you fucking dare!" The angry scream ripped through the air around them, almost completely covering the sound of Nightwing's feet pounding the pavement as he charged at the mercenary's back. "Don't you fucking walk away from me you bastard!"

Deathstroke easily maneuvered out of the way, using Nightwing's momentum to throw him a good ways away from himself. The smaller man managed to land in a crouch, protecting himself from the full force of the throw, panting and glaring at the hired killer. Instinctively Slade cocked his head to the right, making his moderate confusion visually available without having to remove his mask. Nightwing's mouth opened and closed itself a few times as if he was trying to decide if speaking was in his best interest. 

"Maybe you should be having this conversation with the Bat and not a stranger in an alley?" Deathstroke cocked his eyebrow beneath his mask. He lowered his gun and leaned against a nearby dumpster. "You may not have better things to do on a Friday night, but I can tell you that taking a beating for that asshole is not the way I would prefer to spend tonight. Why don't you take this back to him?" 

"Shut the hell up, you don't know what you're talking about!" The anger in the younger man's voice astonished the mercenary. While he had always suspected that the relationship between the famous dynamic duo was less than perfect it was becoming more and more clear that there was more to the story that he wasn't able to pick up on in his cursory readings of Nightwing's character. The idea that there were more layers to the young man intrigued the assassin almost as much as the realization that the bat hadn't been able to brain wash him in his youth. 

"What did he do this time? Is he questioning your ever move? Slowly driving you crazier than the Joker?" Slade's smirk was all too apparent in his voice, the younger man's eyebrows furrowing deeper and deeper as the assassin kept pushing buttons. "Is the ex-Robin not liking fighting with daddy?" 

As the deep crimson red exploded across Nightwing's face a deep laugh rumbled through Deathstroke's chest, broadcasting itself loudly through the darkness. He was somewhat off put by the echoes, which didn't sound nearly as harsh as he was hoping the laugh would sound, but actually warm and genuine. He could only hope that the hero hadn't heard the same traces of humanity as he did. 

Much to his relief it appeared that, either in the heat of the moment or due to unfamiliarity with the killer's tones of voice, Nightwing hadn't caught the full depth of the laugh that lingered heavily around both of them. 

"You don't know what you're talking about," the younger man insisted again, this time his voice less forceful, slowly losing its conviction. A small piece of Slade felt the awkwardness that surrounded the situation, finding himself standing in front of an open window into the ex-Robin's mind, staring deep into a new and unusual source of information that he wasn't quite sure how to interpret just yet. Part of him felt too awkward to take full advantage of what he was faced with, but yet a larger part of him was too fascinated with the ability to peer deep into a mind so warped by the bat that it would crawl out of the depths of that awful black chasm to a none-too-popular assassin's feet in order to search for the answers that could set him free. Such a place, he was sure, would have to be one that was bound to be worth as much information as he would get out of a few simple nights fighting the distraught young man in back alleys and on random roof tops, or wherever he happened to be when the young, budding vigilante tracked him down.

"Oh, don't I? Why don't you explain it for me then? I'd be more than happy to listen." The cruel smirk had returned to Slade's voice. He was no longer looking at Nightwing, but staring disinterestedly at some unnerving sludge that seemed to be molded to the side of the dumpster he was leaning on. 

They sat together in silence for a long time, Nightwing glaring at Deathstroke, studying the one-eyed mask of the man he'd fought so many times before. Dick felt like he had seen the man so many times, but more and more recently he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, moved just slightly so, driving him crazy as he searched the other man's face for that one, small factor he was sure was the key to something. Maybe not beating him in a fight, because neither of them was sure if he was actually there to win in a fight so much as to place the rage towards his adoptive father onto someone else. 

It didn't appear that the killer was looking at him, but more discovering the many joys of back-alley dumpsters, but he could still feel himself being watched carefully by the older man, being turned over like some new, fascinating piece of information. Dick honestly, for the life of him, couldn't figure out where the fascination was coming from. He'd never been any interest to Deathstroke in his Robin days, even in the few times when he'd tried to take the mercenary on by himself. What had changed? Nothing, so far as Deathstroke was concerned, but maybe he didn't give the man enough credit. Maybe part of the reason he was so successful at what he did was his keen eye for detail. 

Finally Deathstroke yawned, bored, now, having figured out what the sludge on the dumpsters was (nothing more than some oddly gelatinous vomit). 

"Well, if you're done for the night, I'd like to go home and get some sleep. You know, like I was going to when your daddy issues so rudely interrupted me?" 

Something about the sentence threw dick off. The thought of the assassin having something normal to do in his life had never seemed quite likely, though he supposed that it was inevitable that each and every villain and super villain had to, at some point, do some sort of average task through out their day. Yet, something about imagining the man underneath all the body armor and weaponry was odd. Ever since he was younger Dick had found it impossible to picture Deathstroke as anything but a killer. Surely there wasn't more than that underneath all of the exterior hostility. Right? 

He found himself quickly staring at the back of all that body armor, like he had only six months ago, the sight slowly becoming all too familiar. Each time it happened something in him wanted more and more badly to call out and explain the entire thing to the mercenary, who had, strangely enough, shown more than a little interest in whatever it had been that was bringing him to the fight so regularly. And to be perfectly honest with himself, Dick was a little short on people that he could freely talk to about his adoptive dad's destructive tendencies and the awkward chemistry that had developed of the way he'd treated Dick over the course of the years before the younger man had decided to break away. 

Perhaps, he found himself pondering bitterly, since Deathstroke had a newly found disinterest in killing him, he simply seemed too safe not to confide in. He couldn't count the number of times he'd lay awake at night cursing the bastard's name for taking his death away from him. Of course he knew, being a rational human being, that he was more than free to take his life himself, but something about that was too dark for him to truly consider. 

But that night wasn't different than the many that came before it when Dick found himself wondering whether of not he could confide in Deathstroke about the true reason for his more and more frequent visits in the late night hours. 

He could feel himself grow closer and closer to the night when, he knew, the words would just explode from him, with or without his permission and he would confide in the mercenary, as he was sure Deathstroke knew he would eventually. It was only a matter of time. 

Slade could feel the desperate scrambling of thoughts behind him as he walked, but he didn't dare turn around. He wouldn't risk blowing what was, most likely, his only chance of ever figuring out just what the ever loving fuck had happened that night six months ago. 

So, as he always did before, he disappeared into the darkness, to return to his home, alone.


	3. The Real Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Slade can't sleep he goes out to try to clam down on a familiar rooftop. What will Dick do when he discovers the merc in his civilian clothes and armed with nothing but conversation?

Slade woke up, gasping for air, a fine layer of sweat covering him. He struggled out of his sheets, feeling as though they were swallowing him whole. 

He stood in the darkness for a moment, naked and lungs on fire, eyes wild, darting around the room. Slowly he realized that he was no longer dreaming. Focusing, he slowed his breath and reached up to run a hand through his hair.  
He paused for a moment to think before pulling on some clothes, grabbing a coat, and heading out the door. He found Killer Frost passed out on his couch, though he couldn’t recall ever having let her in. This wasn’t unusual for him to wake up to find, as she slept there nearly every night, though he knew that she had her own place, mere blocks away. Sighing, he took the blanket draped over the back of the couch and tucked it around her before walking out the door, locking it behind him. 

The elevator ride down to the lobby seemed to take forever, and he strode out briskly once he got there, desperate for the cold night air. Once outside he gulped it down as if he’d been holding a breath for too long. After a moment he started walking with purpose down the streets, exuding as much of a ‘fuck off’ attitude as he could. 

When he reached the building he wanted he walked up to the door and knocked on the glass. A few seconds later an older looking security guard appeared, a smile materializing as he saw Slade. Opening the door he said, “Mr. Wilson! You haven’t visited us in a while!”

“Hank,” Slade nodded politely. A few years prior, the assassin had done what one could call some ‘pro-bono’ work for Hank’s family, hunting down the man who had raped Hank’s daughter, helping to bring him to justice. Ever since, on the really bad nights, Slade would seek Hank out at his job to go to the roof top to watch the city breathe for a while. “Do you mind if I borrow your roof for a while?” 

“It’s all yours, Mr. Wilson.”

Slade knew his way up to the roof by heart, making his way up without giving it much thought. It was only when he got out onto the roof that he really started to relax, feeling muscles he hadn’t realized were tense loosening.  
He walked over to the edge and leaned against the brick slightly, looking over the heavy glow of the city. He stood there without moving for a long time, watching the cars move below like molten lava, letting himself slip into a some-what meditative state.

“Sir, I guarantee you, suicide is not the answer,” a voice broke through his train of thought. Slade turned to find Nightwing approaching him. The vigilante stopped suddenly, like he’d hit an invisible wall, lips parting in surprise. He’d recognized the mercenary, which didn’t really come as a shock to Slade. 

“That’s a bit ironic coming from you,” the older man quirked an eyebrow, turning completely to face Nightwing. He watched as the lips that had just parted in surprise snapped closed like a hunting trap, a faint blush creeping over the younger man’s cheeks, something like shame making him turn his head from the merc’s gaze. “So are you no longer suicidal or do you just believe that your life, specifically, isn’t worth living?”

“Shut up...” There was no fight to the vigilante’s voice that night, which struck Slade as a bad indicator of the younger man’s mental health. He found himself worrying for Nightwing, something he’d never have thought would happen.  
They stood in silence for a long moment while Slade attempted to read Nightwing’s mind with just his eyes. It was hard enough to read just about anything off the vigilante, and Slade had almost given up completely when Nightwing shifted, revealing that what Slade had assumed was a shadow was actually a deep colored bruise on the younger man’s cheek. 

“He do that to you?” Slade gestured and Nightwing automatically covered it with his hand. That was really all the answer the mercenary needed. A white heat started kindling in his chest. Slade had children, and the idea of anyone abusing their child (though he knew Nightwing wasn’t the Bat’s biologically) set his temper on fire. “Did he hunt you down?”

“Not exactly...” Nightwing mumbled.

“What then?” Slade fought to sound cool and aloof, still slightly weary of the young vigilante. “Did you go to him?”

“No, of course not!” Nightwing snapped, eyes shooting to Slade’s, finally showing some fire. “Do you think I would still be anywhere near him if I had a choice?”

“’Still’?” The mercenary’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he could see the younger man realizing what he’d just said. “You live with that asshole?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Nightwing repeated, his voice much smaller. “I don’t have anywhere else.”

Slade stared long and hard at the younger man, who appeared to be fighting back tears, though he was refusing to break eye contact with the hired killer. 

“What the hell are you doing up here anyway?” The younger man’s tone was defiant, lashing out his misplaced anger, the way he had been about three times a week for over six months. 

“We all have bad nights, kid.”

This seemed to surprise Nightwing, which was something the mercenary was used to. People, he had found, like to see other people as one-dimensionally as possible. Slade’s one dimension as heartless, ruthless killer, and he often used it to his advantage. 

“How could you be having-“

“You’ve seen my file. With that background, who wouldn’t?” Nightwing blushed, ducking his head slightly. He looked like he was fighting the very thought that Slade could possibly be human. The merc didn’t blame him for it, no one wants to look at something evil and see that it’s not so different from them. “I guess the Bat didn’t really prepare you for that.”

“He said that you miss Vietnam,” the younger man’s voice was quiet and fearful, as though he was afraid of Slade and of what he was saying. But Slade heard something much more important than the fear; he heard shame. Nightwing was ashamed of what he’d been led to believe, ashamed of letting himself follow so blindly. 

“Did he also show you the pages in my file with all the gory details of how I killed the men that made me do what I did?” Slade received a long, blank stare. “That’d be a ‘no’ then.”

Nightwing stood still as a statue for a heartbeat, his fists clenching and unclenching, body shaking, eyes going dark and empty. Slade watched all these signs knowingly, saying nothing and letting the younger man process, until he did exactly what Slade knew he would do, and lashed out.

“How could I have been so stupid?” The vigilante yelled into the darkness, teeth clenching around the words. 

“Kid, when are you going to figure it out?” Slade sighed, trying not to feel pity (a losing battle). “The problem isn’t you. It’s him.”

With that last thought hanging between them, the older man walked to the door and disappeared, leaving the young vigilante alone with his thoughts.


	4. Riding the Downward Spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred confronts Dick about his declining school attendance and Dick has an unexpected encounter on the Gotham University campus.

Dick woke up late for class, as usual. In his usual frantic pace, he blasted through his morning routine before catching a ride with Alfred. 

As they drove along in relative quiet, Dick could feel Alfred eyeing him without looking away from the road (a skill that Dick always admired, but made him uncomfortable, none the less). He waited for the older man to speak, growing slowly more and more uncomfortable. 

Eventually he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “You’re burning holes in the side of my head.” 

“Perhaps now it’ll be able to get the oxygen it’s clearly lacking.” Dick’s mouth gaped open stupidly in surprise. “What on God’s green earth has gotten into you recently? I understand that the tension between yourself and Master Wayne has taken a toll on you. However, this is not an excuse for you to give up on yourself!” 

Ducking his head in shame, Dick couldn’t help but see stark similarities between Alfred and Deathstroke for a moment. For over a week the mercenary had been haunting him, forcing ghim to open his eyes to things he had ignored before, making him confront the Bat more frequently. During each inevitable fight that occurred, the merc’s voice, as if it were his own heartbeat, in his ears; ‘you’re not the problem, he is. You’re not the problem, he is. You’re not the problem. He is.” It repeated almost on its own, taking its own consciousness in his mind, like the mantras he used in yoga. 

It all left him exhausted, and his attendance in classes went way down, which was why he’d recently been trying his damndest to avoid Alfred. He’d known that none of this had gone unnoted by the older man, but he’d been using his consistent rage to avoid thinking about it as much as possible. Now he had no choice but to stare his decision in the face, and he found himself very afraid that he would just break under everything it meant and start crying. 

“I’m sorry.” He managed to keep his voice even and steady. 

“Don’t apologize, Dick,” Alfred’s voice softened the way it used to when he would help the much younger Dick Grayson through his homework (always Alfred and never Bruce). “Just please promise me that you won’t throw yourself away so easily. You have so much to live for still.” 

Dick had to force himself not to roll his eyes at the words he’d heard many times before. He knew that Alfred was trying to help, but he truly didn’t see any truth to the sentence ‘you have so much to live for’. He’d spent a lot of time looking for what he could possibly still be looking for, and he could find nothing. After the death of his parents he’d lost with them everything that he was. When Bruce Wayne had adopted him he’d become Robin; Boy Wonder, almost forced into the roll. It was true that he’d finally broken away; free to become himself, but he was also being forced to realize that he had no idea how to do that. So he found himself completely lost and with no idea of how to ‘find’ himself. What was there to live for in that? But he promised Alfred hollowly that he’d be around to see whatever it was, though he wasn’t sure it was a promise he could keep. 

Once Alfred had dropped him off, Dick made his way to class, bag slung over one shoulder, hood pulled up and head ducked down, mostly watching his feet as he moved through crowds of other students. He managed to make it to class on time and grabbed a seat at the back of the room, slouching down, trying to make himself invisible. 

Dick hated attending classes. It wasn’t because he hated learning or school or whatever, it was because it made him feel lost. Walking through crowds of his peers, who always appeared happy and like they knew exactly who they were, made him feel like he was drifting. More and more he wasn’t sure why he didn’t just drift away. 

He was thinking exactly that when he ran straight into a broad chest, nearly knocking him flat on his ass. Two large, warm hands grabbed his shoulders firmly, keeping him from falling. 

“Sorry,” he stammered, looking up. His voice stopped in his throat when he saw the man he’d run into. He found himself staring up at Deathstroke, who was, yet again, dressed in civilian clothes.

“Are you okay?” The mercenary let go of Dick’s shoulders. Dick stammered out yet another apology, spluttering incomprehensibly before scrambling away, heart thundering hard against his spine. 

‘What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!’ Dick’s mind raced for an explanation for the merc’s presence on campus. He found no answer that came to mind to be rational. ‘Does he know that I go here? Is he here to kill me? What the fuck is going on?’ 

He finally decided that there could be only one answer. (This decision took him a good two hours to come to.) Slade Wilson was either a student or a teacher at the Gotham University. 

He couldn’t decided which was worse.


	5. Rising from Zombieland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has been brought back to the world of the living and slowly he begins to pull himself together. The one thing he knows for sure is that he feels more ready than ever for another showdown with Deathstroke. Will he be as sure when he finally catches up with the mercenary?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I am so sorry that I didn't get you an update last week! It was Thanksgiving break hear and I had a lot of other stuff to do, so I didn't get the next chapter out to you on time. I hope you can forgive me. :( 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this week's update!

Dick woke up on time and made it to every class without exception every day for weeks after the day he’d physically run into Slade on campus. He kept himself alert, eyes peeled for the mercenary as he walked from class to class. He started spending more time in the library studying, watching for any sign of the man, unfortunately finding none. 

Alfred was delighted, to say the least. And why shouldn’t he be? Dick’s grades were sky rocketing and he no longer resembled the zombies from the Walking Dead (which he’d caught up on since returning to the world of the living). 

As much as he was going out during the day Dick was doing the same as Nightwing. Every night he was either out in the city, working hard to do more good as his own entity and no longer as one half of an expired partnership, or he was at the gym. He was back on his regular yoga schedule and he couldn’t remember ever having felt so much relief. 

It was as if running into the mercenary that day had been the wakeup call that he’d really needed. He’d gone to the database and re-read the Slade Wilson file, reading the whole thing this time, not just the parts Bruce had brought up. He’d decided that night that if Slade Wilson could have bad days, then it was okay for him to have them, but if the mercenary wasn’t going to let them beat him, Dick wouldn’t give in to them either. 

After several weeks of not having fought or spoken with the merc Dick decided that he was finally ready to seek out the older man to test himself, sure that he would impress Deathstroke with how far he’d come. 

Dick spent an entire night out, searching for the older man. One night turned into a week and Dick found himself growing frustrated and, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud to anyone, a little bit worried. He was well into the second week of waiting for the mercenary to show up again when he spotted the older man walking down a dark alley, as usual. 

Swiftly he made his way down, dropping down nearly silently behind Deathstroke. Or so he’d thought until the man standing in front of him slowly turned to look over his shoulder at the younger man. 

What Dick found himself looking at took all the words straight out of his mouth. There were multiple stab wounds and bullet holes in various weak points in his armor, the areas around them damp and glistening with what the vigilante was almost sure would be blood. But what was more eye catching and shocking was the dried blood splattered in small droplets across the man’s left cheek and crusted into his hair. 

“Can I do something for you?” The mercenary sighed, turning slightly more to face the younger man. “Because, if you don’t mind, I would really just like to turn in for the night.” 

“What happened?” Dick gasped, frozen to the spot. He could see the pause physically on Deathstroke’s face as the man studied him out the corner of his eye. The younger man found himself unable to move, the air clogged in the center of his chest as he waited for the answer. 

“You won’t convince me that you don’t have any idea what happened,” the older man finally sighed, ticking his helmet into the crook of his elbow. “I don’t have time to baby you tonight.” 

The comment stung but Dick bit back the hurt comment, concern still pounding through him. 

“A-are you okay?” The words came out before he could stop himself and he watched nervously as the older man’s eyebrows rose. Slowly the mercenary turned to face the vigilante head on. The younger man could feel his cheeks flushing but he didn’t look away, his chin jutting out in a small display of defiance. 

They stood like that in silence for a while as Slade seemed to turn the question over in his mind, weighing it and the answer. 

“You know what, kid? I don’t know.”


	6. Goodnight Slade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After running into Nightwing in the alley behind his building, we find out Slade's side of the story, revealing that, perhaps, Deathstroke the Terminator isn't quite as emotionless as we're lead to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you're gonna love this chapter, I worked really hard to make sure it got out on time. I'm really sorry to say that I'm not sure if I'll be able to update on time next Tuesday because I'll be working my way through finals week. So please pray for my mortal soul. :'( But, I promise, if I don't get updated on time next Tuesday I will do my best to get you an update before the week ends. But for now, here's this week's chapter! Enjoy, and stay awesome. <3

When Slade had walked through the door the Frost had looked up from where she was sitting on the couch, leafing through one of his books. She glanced him over the way she glanced over a page of a magazine. Unlike the young Nightwing in the alley behind the building, the Frost was a seasoned veteran. Even before meeting Slade, she’d seen her own share of bloodshed. Slade often admired the smooth, even way she addressed the world of violence and destruction they lived in. 

“How’re you?” She turned back to the book in her hands. Slade gave a small, deep grunt before moving through the apartment and into his room. 

Immediately he stripped out of the sweaty, blood soaked armor, leaving him standing in the skin-tight under-suit. He punched a code into the keypad in one wall, opening a customized vault he’d installed himself, specifically for his armor. Once he placed each piece where it belonged he closed the doors, which disappeared to the untrained eye, leaving nothing but the very quiet sound of the specialized cleaning cycle starting up, removing all traces of his and any other DNA from the surface of the armor. 

Stripping out of the body suit, he moved into the master bathroom and turned on the shower. The hot water beating against his tired skin was a mercy he was sure he didn’t deserve. He leaned, arms propping him up, against the wall, watching the water fade through different shades of pink as the blood rinsed out of his hair and off his skin. 

After a few minutes of that he grabbed the half-used bar of soap sitting in his shower and started scrubbing himself violently from head to toe. He tried, and failed, to not spend too much time with his eye closed. Every time his one good eye slid closed he could see the last week playing out in painful slow motion. Things had not gone well and he’d been unable to stop a massacre not unlike the one that still haunted him from his days in Vietnam. If he’d only filled the contract a day, even twelve hours sooner so many innocent lives could have been spared. 

But that couldn’t have been the end of it, could it? Life never paused, there was always some way to make a day just one step worse. When he’d run into Nightwing in the alley he’d been ready to just call it quits and die. He’d stood there, bone tired, skin crawling under the clammy, sticky, uncomfortable feel of blood (not all his) and sweat on his skin, knowing what the younger man was going to ask, and also knowing that he was too tired to lie. 

He found himself scrubbing hard enough to leave deep red patches on his skin and forced himself to put the soap down. He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist before moving back into the living room. 

“Bad day at work?” The Frost’s voice cautious as she watched him move into the kitchen and proceed to consume everything that he could. He made a non-committal sound, not looking up from his food. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you need to call Wade?”

The question held a lot of weight, because Slade would only ever call his brother that late at night if things were really bad. Slade didn’t want to admit it to her, but he did want to call Wade. He didn’t, however, want to worry her, so he shook his head. He stood there and talked to her for a while longer before going to bed. 

For half an hour he willed himself not to pick up the cell phone, staring up into the darkness on his ceiling. He told himself that he would be able to make it until morning, he willed himself to think about something else, anything else. But the phone burned quietly at the back of his mind until, inevitably, he lost the fight and picked up the phone. Wade, as always, was the first in his speed dial. 

“Slade?” His brother’s sleepy voice sounded packed with cotton. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied. He could hear Wade getting out of bed as quietly as possible and shutting the door to the room he and Peter slept in with a quiet click. 

“What happened?” Slade could practically see Wade moving through the hallway and into the living room. “Did the job go badly?”

“Yeah,” Slade tried to sound calm and even, but he knew that Wade could hear him choking on the end of the word. “Pretty bad.” 

“Tell me.”

That was all it took. Slade took him through the job, beginning to end, until he’d unloaded every last emotion, leaving himself completely empty. His brother, he knew, was one of the very few people in the world who would ever completely understand him, and where he was coming from. 

“Nightwing...” Wade mumbled, still sounding half asleep. “Is that the kid you’ve been talking about recently? The ex-Boy Wonder?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Slade was starting to feel as though he could breathe again without all the weight on his chest. His cat, a big, orange, slightly scruffy feline, hopped up into the bed, curling familiarly into his hip, purring softly. 

“Kid sounds persistent,” Wade chuckled. “I like him already.” 

“Figures,” Slade snorted with more of his usual brand of sarcastic fire. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Wade chuckled back sleepily, his exhaustion making him much more calm and even than he was during daylight. “Goodnight Slade.” 

“Goodnight Wade.”

Not long after they hung up Slade fell asleep, and he slept like a rock through the night.


	7. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dick confronts Slade about what happened emotions swell and tensions come to a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm really sorry that I've been gone for so long, my laptop has been out for repairs for over a week now. :/ To make up for it I tried to make this chapter a little extra long for you, and I hope you aren't too upset with me!! *hides under table* Please enjoy the chapter, and I swear I'll do better now!!! <3

It had been almost a full week since the night that Nightwing had found him in the alley, and Slade had seen neither hide nor hair of the vigilante. He was starting to think that he’d scared the younger man away until the brief blue blur had caught his attention out the corner of his eye.

“You do realize that you are allowed to start your attack on my right side, right?” Slade sighed effortlessly as he dodged under the attack. “I face more murderous people than you on a regular basis, I’m more than capable of defending myself from the right.”

Nightwing didn’t reply, sliding right into his next attack. There was none of the sloppy rage or hesitation in the moves, just a pure, driven will to win. The kid had been practicing and it showed. 

“Well, someone’s been studying up, hasn’t he?” Slade laughed genuinely, admittedly a little enthusiastic about the new challenge. 

Nightwing had improved, but Slade had had years of experience, and, inevitably, he won. Knocking the vigilante to the ground he put one heavy foot on the younger man’s chest to hold him down. Nightwing didn’t fight back, though, continuing to lay there gasping for air, staring up into Slade’s good eye. 

“Wow, kid,” Slade grinned, sheathing his sword and removing his foot. “You’ve really been working since the last time I saw you.” 

There was a distinct note of pride gleaming in the younger man’s eye, his chest starting to rise and fall at a slightly slower pace, but still he said nothing. He seemed to be thinking about what to say next, making no effort to stand up. Something in Slade was enjoying the way the younger man looked sprawled out on the pavement, but he didn’t let himself enjoy the feeling, pushing it far back into his mind, the way he had been trained to in his army days. 

He reached out one hand to the younger man, who took it after a moment, and helped to pull him up. Nightwing hadn’t stopped giving him that pensive look, and it was really starting to annoy Slade, who was used to giving the pensive looks more so than receiving them. 

“Do you have something to ask me or are you just going to keep staring at me?” The mercenary sighed. Nightwing flushed satisfyingly, forcing his gaze away and grumbling something unintelligible under his breath. Slade couldn’t help but chuckle slightly, the sound reverberating deep inside his chest. He started turning to walk away. “If that’s going to be it for tonight I’ve got a job to be doing right now.” 

“Wait!” The forcefulness in Nightwing’s voice caught Slade off guard and he quirked an eyebrow, turning his body back to face the younger man head on. “What the hell happened last week?” 

And just like that he felt his limbs get heavy as if someone had dropped him into quicksand. He was suddenly very glad that he was wearing the helmet, which hid his face from the world. Though judging by the way that Nightwing was looking at him, the kid hadn’t missed the shift in the way he was standing. 

“You’re a persistent little-“

“Look I’m not stupid, okay?” The kid stopped him before he could finish his sentence. “I know that I’ve missed some key clues in the past, but regardless of what you think, I’m not stupid. I can tell that something happened.”

Slade stood statue still, every muscle in his body tense. Nightwing tensed in response, but there was no need to. Slade wasn’t bracing himself for an attack so much as bracing himself against the inevitable landslide of memories that seemed to hit him like a hurricane. 

“I had a rough day at work,” he answered vaguely. 

“How so?” Nightwing pushed, proving Slade’s suspicion that the younger man wasn’t going to let it go. He paused again, searching for a way around it in the younger man’s eyes, but finding none.   
“You read the whole file didn’t you?” Nightwing nodded. Despite the lingering echoes of screams in the back of his head Slade chuckled to himself. “And of course you remember the incident in that village in Vietnam.” This time it wasn’t a question. Anyone who had read his file, even just half way through, would know about what had happened in Vietnam. It was his ‘biggest achievement’ as far as the government was concerned. Again he looked Nightwing dead in the eye. “It was like that all over again.” 

He could see the younger man’s face pale a little, even under the crappy lighting the street lights gave them. He watched the youthful lips narrow into one thin line as he swallowed hard, the way he always seemed to when he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to something. Slade had noticed the habit over the course of the past year or so, and was fairly confident that he had figured out how the younger man thought. Of course, he realized, it was every time that he assumed this that he was proven wrong.   
“Are you okay?” Once again Slade felt his eyebrows shoot up. It was almost as if the younger man could sense the reaction as he flushed a bright shade of scarlet, looking away quickly. “I mean…after how you reacted the first time…” he mumbled to the ground. 

“I’m fine,” Slade said after a long moment. Nightwing looked up at him again, his eyes seeming oddly intense. Even through the mask Slade could see the younger man’s skepticism. “What?” 

“For a world renowned merc I would have thought you would be a better liar.” 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Slade snarled, losing his temper. “It’s a miracle that your identity is still a fucking secret.” 

And with that he stormed away, disappearing into the shadows. He made his way back through the city and into the alley behind his building before the persistent vigilante caught up to him. 

“Hey!” Nightwing yelled, dropping down through the darkness, landing directly behind Slade. Another snarl ripped through Slade’s throat as he whirled around, looking down into the younger man’s face. And in a rush of movement, for once, Nightwing caught him completely by surprise. 

Reaching up with delicate fingers Nightwing removed Deathstroke’s helmet. Before Slade could react or try to snatch the helmet away the younger man stood up on his tip toes, wrapping his arms around Slade’s neck, and pressed his lips to Slade’s older ones. 

For a long, awkward heartbeat Slade froze, caught too off guard to effectively process what had happened. He could see the doubt and regret start to flood onto Nightwing’s face and the vigilante started to pull away, horror draining the color from his face again. 

“I-I don’t know what I was thinking,” the young man stammered, not realizing that his arms were still around Deathstroke’s neck. The realization seemed to catch up to him and he started to pull his arms away, the mercenary’s helmet still clutched in one hand. But before he could completely retreat Slade pulled Nightwing’s face back to his, crushing the younger man’s mouth with his own. Nightwing’s arms circled behind Slade’s neck once again and he could feel the weight of his helmet resting on his right shoulder. 

The kiss deepened and Slade’s hands started to wander down the younger man’s back. Nightwing moaned into the kiss when Slade took one massive hand full of the younger man’s muscular ass, the other arm circling behind his back, holding him firmly in place. Slade could feel his own dick responding to the sounds of pleasure Nightwing let out as his hand worked the tense muscles of his ass.   
Nightwing moaned, his hips pressing forward into Slade’s. The older man breathed in sharply, lust driving him crazy. He glanced around, coming down enough to realize that they were still out in the alley. He debated for a minute, wondering if it was a good idea to take the young vigilante into his home. Unfortunately, the growing tension in his pants was telling him that his ability to make a decision was disappearing quickly. 

“Follow me,” Slade growled, dragging Nightwing along behind him. He slammed the button with some moderately unnecessary force before turning back around and pulling Nightwing back into him. When the elevator finally dinged he pulled the vigilante in and, reaching down, hoisted him up by his thighs, pressing him back against the elevator wall. Once again the vigilante moaned into the kiss, his legs tightening around the merc’s waist. 

Slowly Slade started kissing down the younger man’s neck as he started grinding into him. He almost didn’t notice the small ding as the doors slid open on his floor. He carried the younger man down the hall, putting him down only so he could fish out his key to let them in. Once the door was open he lead him in, walking backwards so they wouldn’t have to break the kiss. 

As he wove them carefully through the living room, avoiding knocking over any of the piles of books around his living room he locked eyes with the Frost, who was sitting on his couch, looking at him curiously with one eyebrow raised. He shot her a glare before closing the door to his room behind him. 

Carefully Slade stripped off his armor leaving him in just the body suit. Nightwing had used the time the mercenary had spent to remove his own costume, leaving him in nothing but his mask and his underwear. Slade made his way over to the younger man. Kissing him he slowly walked the smaller man backward, laying him down carefully in the bed. He could feel Nightwing’s hands tugged at the body suit as he squirmed eagerly under the larger, older man. Somewhat awkwardly Slade managed to wiggle out of it, kicking it off the bed. 

He paused, arms propping him up on either side of the younger man, making eye contact. 

“What?” Nightwing managed to gasp. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Really? You’re asking for…permission?” The vigilante looked up at him in moderate surprise.

“I’m a mercenary, not a rapist,” Slade said seriously. Nightwing seemed to consider him for a moment before replying. 

“I’m sure,” he said, barely managing to hold still. “Now, please, just fuck me!” 

Nightwing pulled Slade down forcefully, biting into the base of his neck. Slade groaned, chuckling slightly as he reached down to tease the lump growing in the younger man’s underwear. He could feel the groan in the crook of his neck, a shudder running through his body. “God,” he growled, pushing his hand into Nightwing’s underwear and wrapping his hand around the base of the younger man’s erection, pulling at it gently until he let out a low moan. Slade pulled away from Nightwing briefly to pull away both of their underwear, tossing them aside. 

Slowly he kissed his way up the younger man’s toned body, starting at his hips, enjoying the ragged breathing he received because of it, until he reached his lips. Carefully he bit at the vigilante’s lower lip slowly grinding his hips forward against his partner’s. Nightwing’s back arched into the movement as he let out a gasp choked with pleasure. He wrapped his arms around Slade’s torso, fingernails clawing at the older man’s back as he ground his hips forward, desperate for more pleasure. 

“God, fuck me!” Nightwing growled, pressing his forehead against Slade’s chest. “Please...”

Breaking away briefly Slade leaned over to his bedside table, where he pulled out his lube. Hurriedly he applied it to himself, shuddering at the cold, slick substance. He squeezed more out onto his fingertips, sliding them gently against Nightwing’s asshole, gently pushing them inside, drawing out a brief gasp from the smaller man, who clutched desperately at Slade’s back in a mixture of pain and pleasure.   
“Shhh,” Slade soothed quietly, moving in slow, gentle strokes, loosening the tense muscles, preparing Nightwing for his erection. “Is that okay?”

“Nnngh.” It sounded more like pleasure that pain, which Slade took to be a good sign. Finally he pulled his fingers away, receiving a desperate groan from Nightwing, who arched up into him once again, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, head pressed in his shoulder. 

Carefully Slade pressed himself up against the younger man’s opening, pushing in slowly. Nightwing let out a sharp cry, biting down onto Slade’s shoulder once again, finger nails digging into the older man’s back. Slade let out a groan as the pain pierced through his skin. He kept pushing forward slowly, doing his best not to inflict too much pain on his partner, until he was in all the way. Nightwing shuddered, his ass clenching around the larger man, his breathing uneven. 

“Are you okay?” Slade’s voice came out ragged and slightly breathless. Slowly his partner nodded, swallowing hard. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Y-yes, please,” the answer came out as a whine, desperate. The sensation of the younger man squirming around him pushed Slade to the edge and he slowly started rocking his hips back and forth, at first drawing out small gasps and whimpers from the younger man, then, as the pace picked up, cries of pleasure as he relaxed and his hips started rocking up into the older man’s pace. 

“God...Slade...” The sound of his name caught the mercenary off guard, but only added fuel to the fire and Slade’s pace quickened as he felt himself coming closer to finishing. Judging by the sounds his partner was making, he wasn’t far either. “God...I’m gonna come.” 

Slade couldn’t respond, driving forward, electricity running through his body as Nightwing gave a strangled cry, coming hard. The sound brought Slade up to the edge and with a groan he finished, limbs trembling as he pulled out, rolling over onto his back. As he lay there catching his breath he could hear the vigilante’s breathing even out as he drifted off to an exhausted sleep. He turned, looking at the peace that had passed over the younger man’s face, the muscles around his mask totally relaxed, his heavy eyelids already closed. Slade could feel his own eyes starting to relax from exhaustion. 

He fell asleep like that, to the gentle breathing of the young man lying next to him.


	8. Shut the Fuck Up Wade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the realization of what happened the night before with Nightwing Slade goes over to his brother's apartment for his regular visit. Will Wade be able to pull the truth out of Slade?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an extra apology for not giving you guys more updates over the last couple of weeks I've written another extra long chapter for you, now featuring SPIDEYPOOL! :D Hope you enjoy and have an awesome week guys!!! <3

Slade woke up the next morning, rolling over to find the spot in the bed next to him empty. He couldn’t honestly tell himself that he was surprised, but he lay there, staring at the rumpled sheets and wondering if it had actually happened, or if he had just dreamt it. Sighing he turned onto his back, running a hand absently through his hair. He lay like that for a while as the cobwebs left behind sleep slowly fell away, leaving him contemplating the significance of what had happened (assuming that it wasn’t a dream) and what the empty space in the bed next to him. Once he found his mind running in circles around the problem he pulled himself out of bed and pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants before walking out into the living room. 

The Frost was sitting on the couch eating cereal. She looked up and a smirk crossed her face as she looked him over. “Saw your boyfriend leaving early this morning.”

So it wasn’t a dream then. Slade grunted by way of response and walked over to the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the coffee pot, which the Frost had dutifully filled before he’d woken up. He took his usual place at the table, picking up the battered paper back he’d been reading for the past few weeks; an assigned reading from one of his classes at the Gotham University. 

“How was he?” She walked across the open space between the couch she was sitting on and the kitchen area, sitting down in the chair on the other side of the table, folding her hands and waiting expectantly. Taking a long drink of his coffee Slade gave her a pointed look over the rim of his coffee mug, one eyebrow raised slightly. “What? Boy Wonder’s tender young ass wasn’t exactly life changing then?” He gazed at her sarcastically and she peered back with a smug ‘gotcha’ face that made him want to roll his eyes. When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to make a further comment she huffed and crossing her arms, she frowned, rolling her eyes at him. “You know, your old-timey policies about this shit get real old real fast.”

“They’re not old-timey, they’re common decency.”

“You kill people for a living, Slade!” 

He took another long drink of his coffee before going back to reading his book. There was a brief pause, and he was sure that she was plotting something quietly. 

“He’s got a hell of an ass,” she prodded carefully, leaning forward a little, trying to peer up at him, around the book, looking for some sign that she, evidently, didn’t find. “Good and round...the way you like ‘em.” 

“How would you know what kind of asses I like?” Slade mumbled around his coffee mug, which he held absently to his lips, seeming to forget to drink. 

“Please, I’ve been living in your apartment on and off for almost a decade, I’m not an idiot.” 

“That sounds debatable to me, since you can’t seem to find a place of your own to live in.” He countered glancing up at her. She glared back at him, rocking slightly in her chair. He could feel the air starting to grow cold against his bare upper torso and he shuddered slightly. “Really? How old are you?” 

She smirked, not replying, and stood up. “Well, if you’re not going to be any fun today, I’m going to go out.” 

“Have fun,” he called after her as she disappeared out the door, leaving nothing but a brief, chilled breeze in her wake. He stared at the door for a few seconds before shaking his head, going back to his reading.   
He finished his morning coffee and got dressed before heading out to the street where the doorman hailed a cab for him. He got in and gave the driver his brother’s address, sitting back for the ride.   
Slade regularly visited his younger brother Wade on the weekends. It had been a ritual for as long as he could remember, started, most likely, when Wade had started taking his inevitably useless chemo treatments at the hospital. Since their parents had been long dead, Slade had taken it upon himself to be the one to take Wade to the hospital, and had sat with him through each treatment and each consultation with numberless doctors. 

After the catastrophe with the governmental experimentation (which Slade had tried to talk his brother out of) the habit of visiting Wade had continued. That weekend was no different, so there Slade stood, outside Wade’s apartment, knocking on the door. 

It didn’t take long for the door to open. In front of Slade stood a shorter, slimmer young man with semi-untamed brown hair. 

“Afternoon, Peter,” Slade said politely, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. As usual Peter smiled back politely, opening the door to let Slade into the apartment, but Slade knew that he made the younger man slightly uncomfortable. To his credit, Peter was growing more and more used to Slade’s presence over the weeks. 

“Hi Slade,” the younger man said as Slade walked in. 

“Slade!” Came a cry from the kitchen. As he grew closer Slade could hear what sounded like dishes being rattled around. When he made it into the kitchen he found his brother, surprisingly, doing dishes. He stared at the scarred backside of his brother’s head in moderate shock and confusion. “How’s it hangin’ brotha’?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m doing dishes.”

“Did something happen to your brain...?” Slade ventured.

“yeah, got shot in the face doin’ a job the other day.” Slade could feel Peter cringing next to him. Wade shrugged nonchalantly, putting plates onto the drying wrack next to him. “I think something grew back just a little funny.”

“One could argue that you were just born like that,” Slade muttered under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“Don’t care.” Slade took his usual place at the table, watching as his brother finished up. He turned to look at Peter. “He must really love you if he’s actually contributing to house work.” 

Peter said nothing, but his cheeks lit up a light pink color and he couldn’t help the small, pleased smile that touched his lips briefly. It was when Slade caught brief moments like that that he became aware of just how much his brother was loved. 

“I do house work!” Wade took his seat at the opposite side of the table as Peter muttered about needing to do grade some papers. He studied Slade thoughtfully for a moment before an odd smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

“You got laid last night, didn’t you?”

“What’re you blathering about now?”

Wade brushed the comment away dismissively with the flick of his hand. “Don’t try to deny it, big brother, I’d know that twinkle anywhere. You got fucked last night!”

“No I didn’t.”

“Then you did the fucking. Don’t pull that semantics bullshit with me, you know it doesn’t work.” The younger of the brothers paused again to study his older brother for a few long seconds before speaking again. “Must’ve been a pretty good one. Anyone I know?”

Slade knew from years of experience that there would be no changing the subject until Wade got what he wanted from the conversation they were having. Still, he paused, trying to think of a way out.  
“Must’ve been someone special,” Wade’s voice racing out in a sing-song way as he leaned back in his chair, exactly the way their mother had always told him not to. “Any common hooker wouldn’t deserve that kind of a pause.”

Slade rolled his eyes, crossing his arms defensively on the table. Evidently, Wade took this as a challenge.

“Twenty questions?”

“No.”

“I heard yes.”

“For fuck’s sake, Wade!”

“Is it bigger than a bread box?”

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”

“Man or woman?”

“I told you, I’m not playing.”

“Man then,” Slade paused slightly, caught off guard. He immediately cursed himself for it. “Okay, good to know! I’m going to assume it’s one of those capes that’s always running around that city of yours.”  
“I’m counting that as a question.”

“Fine, I’m at two then.”

“No, that’s three, you dipshit!”

“You can’t really be counting the bread basket one!”

“I can and I am,” Slade smirked.

“Doesn’t count,” Wade shook his head.

“Does.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Does too.”

“Doesn’t.”

“Does!”

“Peter!” Wade yelled. Before he could say anything else Peter yelled back.

“It counts and you know it, Wade!”'

Slade smirked at his brother, leaning back in his chair victoriously. Wade pouted for a minute before bouncing back.

“Was it Superman?” Slade sneered. “Okay, that’s a no. Green Lantern?”

“Are you even trying?”

“The Flash?”

“God no.”

“Was it Raven again?”

“I thought you’d ruled out women?”

“I think she counts.”

“No.”

“Cyborg?”

“No.”

“Don’t tell me it was Shazam...”

“What? No! What makes you think it wasn’t someone from the darker side of Gotham?”

“Don’t waste my time, Slade, we both know that your moral code wouldn’t let you do that.”

Slade half-grumbled under his breath as his brother, who was having too much fun, tapped his chin thoughtfully. 

“Hmmm, let’s see. Was it Batman?”

“No!” Slade hadn’t meant the word to come out as a snarl, but it did, catching them both off guard. That was when they both knew that Wade had him.

“Ooooh, interesting. Not the Bat then. How about that old partner of his? What’s he running around as now?”

Sale said nothing, but he didn’t have to. He could feel his cheeks burning, and there would be no lying to his brother; Wade knew him too well for that.

“Nightwing,” Slade gave in, glaring forward, eyes challenging his brother. He’s going under the name Nightwing, okay?”

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna play?”

“Shut the fuck up, Wade.”


	9. Mind at War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two months since that first night together and Dick is beginning to feel the lines he once knew so well begin to disappear, leaving him wondering where it is that he stands and what he stands on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, if I post at one in the morning the day after I was supposed to post it counts as getting the chapter up on time still...right? Sorry it got pushed back so late guys, I took a nap after I got home and lost track of time. Never the less, I wanted to make sure to get it up for you before I go to bed! Please enjoy. <3

Dick woke up slowly after having dozed off, a brief panic washing over him as he became aware of his unfamiliar surroundings. He struggled briefly against unfamiliar sheets, gasping desperately for a moment before forcing himself to breathe evenly and think rationally about what was going on. He could feel the heavy weight of someone shifting next to him and the night came flooding back to him. 

He was in Deathstroke’s apartment. Of course he was in Deathstroke’s apartment, he chastised himself. He realized that he must have dozed off after what had become their semi-regular sexual-misadventure. He turned over to look at the larger man sleeping on the bed next to him. Soft city lights seeped in the wall of windows, illuminating the profile of Slade Wilson, whose sleeping face looked oddly peaceful to Dick, who had never seen the man look anything but consistently wary of his surroundings. 

The younger man lay there for a long while, watching Slade’s chest rise and fall, losing himself in the steady, reliable rhythm. He lay there for a long time watching Slade sleep that way. He knew that he should leave, but something in the back of his head kept him lying there, telling himself ‘five more minutes, then I’ll leave.’ He did this for over an hour before he finally did get up. 

Slinking quietly around the room he got dressed, keeping one eye on the sleeping man he’d left in the bed. He was sure that he would be fine if he dropped his guard around the older man (they had been sleeping together for two months after all), but habit told him to keep Slade in sight at all times. 

Once he was dressed he slipped out into the living room, closing the door quietly behind him. When he turned around he found Killer Frost sitting bolt up-right, fully awake, knees pulled up to her chest, eyes boring into him. If she had been a cat he was sure she’d be growling at him. She sat like that every night when he crept away, watching him as he crossed the living room. 

He did his best to ignore her as he made his way through a small maze of books trying to get to the door. Once he closed the door behind him he breathed a sigh of relief, making his way to the service elevator Slade always brought him up in, and then down into the alley to steal away to where he’d stashed his motorcycle behind a dumpster a few blocks away. 

Dick hadn’t been surprised to find that the infamous Slade Wilson lived in a high rise condo, however, he wouldn’t lie, the inside of the condo had been far from what he’d been expecting. The living area was filled with well-loved second-hand furniture and beat-up old book cases, teaming with more books than he could count. And they didn’t even contain all of the man’s books, the rest flowing out in stacks on the floor and on the coffee table as well as numerous side tables. 

Behind the book jungle though, was perhaps the most impressive piece of the condo; a huge greenhouse sat where a balcony would usually be. Through the wall of glass he could see an impressive collection of plants thriving, filling the space with many varying shades of green, splashes of color polka dotting the flowering plants with tiny, sleeping buds. He could only imagine how beautiful the room was in the morning when the buds opened up to greet the sun. 

He caught himself more than once thinking about how perfect that greenhouse would be for doing yoga. That was just one more thing he had against Bruce at home: the constant gloomy darkness that seemed to hold Wayne Manor. Once before, Alfred had told him, Wayne Manor had been filled with people and light and sound. Now it sat hollow and dark. He could see how much Alfred missed working in that bright, happy manor as opposed to what it had become, seeming to sulk at the end of the long drive way that Dick had rode up so many days after school. 

As it was, that night he pulled up the round-about way that led him into the Bat Cave, where he parked his motorcycle and stripped out of his Nightwing uniform and mask before stalking through the shadows, dashing to the back of the manor where his room was, tucked far away from everything and everyone else. The room had been his sanctuary through many years, but it had never quite felt like home, though he wasn’t sure he could remember what home felt like. He had only lonely, distant memories to draw from, memories he wasn’t sure he trusted anymore. 

His eyes appreciated being exposed to fresh air after the long night of confinement behind the mask. He wasn’t overly fond of wearing the mask during sex, but he wasn’t sure he would like the result of not wearing it any better. The air felt nice as it slithered across his face, as he dashed up staircases and around corners in only his underwear, before he stopped into his room briefly to grab a towel. 

Sneaking quietly down the hall he hopped into the shower, letting the hot water soak into his skin as he stood there with his eyes closed. No matter how long he stayed in the shower after coming home from a night with the mercenary he was never able to wash away the sensation of those intense kisses and powerful hands. He could scrub and scrub, but he would still feel the larger man there on his skin as he tried to fall asleep. 

He told himself that he hated it because it made him feel dirty, but in reality he hated it because it left him wishing that he hadn’t left at the end of the night, and when he would close his eyes he could still see the older man sleeping next to him. He could remember the sight so perfectly now that he felt as if he would be able to reach out and trace the outline of the merc‘s face where the moon and city lights illuminated it. Every night he would try to do this, but just as his fingers brushed the sleeping man’s skin he would wake up to his alarm, the ghost-sensation left over, still haunting his fingertips. 

With that haunting sensation tickling the pads of his fingers on his right hand he would wake up the morning after a night with Slade and, in a huge rush, become painfully aware of the emptiness of the room around him, especially in the lack of weight on the bed next to him. 

It was all of these parts of the aftermath that Dick thought about as he finished up in the shower. 

He never felt more like he was going to battle than when he went to bed at the end of those nights.


	10. So Deathstroke the Terminator and Killer Frost Walk into a Grocery Store...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade and the Frost have a heart to heart. What better way to do that than on a trip to the grocery store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this week's installment for you guys! I think you're going to enjoy getting to explore the relationship between the Frost and Slade. :D Let me know what you think in the comments. ^_^ Love you guys, hope to update soon! <3

Slade Wilson loved going to the grocery store. Many people would never guess that based solely off his appearance, but he loved to go to the store every Sunday during the day and pick out everything he would need to make dinner for the week. 

He’d had this routine for several years, shopping happily on his own every Sunday. That is, until Killer Frost had come along. 

“So, the thing with Nightwing getting more serious?” She asked as they made their way through the super market. Slade rolled his eyes, stopping in the fresh produce to pick out vegetables. As he looked through the tomatoes she made herself comfortable in the basket of the shopping cart, pulling her knees up to her chest as she leaned against the back. “He’s been coming over a lot recently...”

“You’re just as bad at prying as my brother,” Slade mumbled as he finished bagging his vegetables before moving on to the fruit. He handed them to her and she set them near her feet, head swiveling to study her surroundings as they moved. 

“And yet you always open up to us. Does that say more about you or us?”

“Now you sound like me.” 

“Not entirely surprising considering I live with you.” 

“You mean you moved in without asking me. You know you scare the shit out of him when you wait for him to leave like that.”

“Didn’t realize that you knew that I did that.” He could see her smirking through the back of her head. 

“He’s mentioned it.”

“So you two do more than fuck then? That sounds kind of serious.”

“Would you give it a rest?”

“I can tell you’re getting attached,” she said, turning to look at him. He avoided her gaze by picking out apples and oranges for his fruit bowl. “You can deny it all you want, but I know you. You’re getting attached and he leaves you every night.”

“You’ve never had just a casual sexual relationship with someone?”

“I’ve had plenty. But you’re more old fashioned than that and we both know it. So you’re going to either have to stop or convince me that you’re okay. ‘Cause I keep seeing you waking up alone in the morning on the back of my eyelids and it’s driving me crazy.” 

Slade said nothing, moving on to the pasta isle. As he moved the Frost would casually reach out and snag certain items, putting them into a pile she designated for herself. They shopped in silence for a long time before the mercenary could think of a response. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Frosty,” he managed to sound more confident than he felt. “I’m a big boy, I’m able to take care of myself.”

She said nothing, turning one of his apples over and over in her hands. He was beginning to think that she was going to drop the subject until she turned and looked him in the eye again. 

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Her eyes were a much colder, feline blue than his, sharp and deep like the picturesque glaciers one would see on a google image search, softened only by the concerned expression surrounding them on a face that suddenly looked too young for her years. “You deal with enough shit already.” 

He could feel his mouth open, but he had nothing by way of reply. She turned back around before he could think of anything to say. He stared at her pale blue hair for a moment before he moved forward again.   
The relationship that had developed between the two of them was a strange one. It had started as something purely sexual, but had grown in a strange direction. Slade saw the woman who was once Louise Lincoln now as more of a sister than a past sexual partner, and at times it was painfully obvious that she had become attached to him as well. He often found himself wondering if this was healthy for her, as he was obviously not the most stable person to be attached to. But she was a grown woman, despite her extremely youthful appearance; she knew what she was getting in to. 

When he was silent for a long time she moved the conversation on without him. 

“Is he as serious about the one night stands as you?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, holding his temper in check as he made his way through a maze of other shoppers clogging the cereal aisle where he knew Frost would want to pick out her favorite kind of cheerios. (The frosted kind of course.) “Sometimes it seems like it, but...”

“When you wake up he’s gone.”

“Yeah.”

“Man, you’ve got it bad, huh?” She said, pulling five boxes off the shelf and into the cart with her. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Slade Wilson had many destructive talents, but one of his less-destructive ones was surrounding himself with friends and family who knew him better than anyone else. 

As they checked out, Frost still riding in the basket, he could feel the cashier and the bagger trying their best not to stare. They slowly moved forward in the checkout lane and as they got in arm’s reach the Frost reached out and swiped a couple Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to add to her pile. 

Slade put everything up on the conveyer belt for the cashier, getting her groceries on last (it was his week to pay for her groceries) and waited for the young man to ring all his items. When he got to the Peanut Butter Cups he looked up hesitantly at Slade before asking, “Would your daughter like these out of the bag, sir?”

“Not even close, pal, try again,” the Frost fired off before Slade could say anything. 

“I-I’m-“

“I’m not his daughter I’m...?”

“His...niece?”

“Nu-uh, still cold. Try again.”

“I-I don’t-“

“In the bag is fine thank you,” Slade cut the boy off, unable to watch his face turn any deeper shades of red. 

Finally they walked out of the store together, leaving the terrified and harsh judgmental stares behind them. 

Just another normal day at the grocery store.


	11. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing has been notorious for disappearing before the sun rises, so how will Slade react if the young vigilante stays until dawn? Will Dick burst into flames or will things run a little more smoothly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm so sorry, I know I usually update on Tuesdays, but unfortunately I was swamped with school and work this Tuesday. The chapter runs a little on the short side, so please don't be mad at me!! I promise I will try to make it up to you!!! I love u all and I hope the chapter is good despite it being so short :(

It started the same way every time. First they would fight, something in an alley, sometimes on a roof top, it didn’t usually matter. It was usually Nightwing who found Deathstroke and started it, and then one would chase the other, weaving in and out of their surroundings with an unsettling, deadly grace, always in the direction of Slade’s apartment. 

Once they were in the shadow of the tall building the game changed. It was at this point in the night that their strange, violent flirting turned into sex. They both anticipated that pivotal moment greatly, but neither wanted to admit it to themselves, much less to each other. 

They would make their way up and into Slade’s condo, then into the bedroom (the Frost glaring intently after them). Up until this point the night always went the same. The sex would always start the same, too, Slade insisting on receiving consent and wearing protection and properly lubing them both up so as not to hurt either one of them by accident. But everything after that point was wildly different form one night to the next. 

Nightwing, young and inexperienced though he was, was a quick study, as well as fascinatingly flexible, but Slade found himself drawn to something else in the younger man. There was something desperate and passionate in Nightwing that the mercenary couldn’t help but be drawn to. It was intoxicating and he could never get enough, no matter how many nights they repeated the ritual. 

After they were done they would both nod off to the sound of each other’s heavy breathing, and then Dick would sneak out when he was sure Slade wasn’t going to wake up, and Slade would wake up alone.   
This was their ritual, how every night between them happened, an endless loop that kept going and going and going...until one day it broke. 

Slade woke up slowly, sensing that something was different, but unable to place what it was through the slowly lifting haze of sleep. He rolled over and realized what it was. 

Nightwing lay burrowed into a heap of blankets and pillows on the other side of the bed breathing softly as he slept on. Slade froze, unsure for a moment as to what to do, but also waiting for himself to wake up and realize it was just a dream. When that didn’t happen he crawled carefully out of bed, pulling on some pajama pants and sneaking into the living room, closing the door quietly behind himself. 

“So,” the Frost chirped from the couch, sitting up straight, bed head ravaging her hair. “Boy Wonder stayed the night, did he?”

“Shhh!” Slade hushed, motioning for her to follow him as he padded over to the kitchen.

“It’s about fuckin’ time, don’cha think?” She followed, stubbornly not ‘shh-ing’. “You two have been fucking for months!”

He shot her a disapproving look as he moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients for pancakes, hoping to God Nightwing wasn’t allergic to gluten.

“Don’t give me that look you ancient asshole,” she growled, sitting on one of the bar stools at the counter, watching him get things ready. “This toddler’s been ditching you for months and you’re gonna make him fucking pancakes?” 

“You’re very critical, aren’t you?” Slade growled as he pre-heated the griddle.

“Would I be me if I weren’t?”

“Definitely not.”

“Exactly.” She smirked sleepily from where she perched across from him, looking bizarrely unthreatening in her pajamas. “Do I get pancakes too?” 

“Do you want chocolate chips in yours?”

“Always.”

He chuckled as he started making the pancakes. He made sure to make hers first, knowing full well she would take anything less as an insult, and then made a decently sized stack of pancakes for the young man still sleeping in his bed. 

As he arranged the pancakes and a mug of coffee on a tray that he managed to unearth from a cupboard before heading towards the door to his bedroom again, hesitating once he got there, staring at it momentarily. 

“Really? Is Deathstroke the terminator afraid of a baby vigilante?” The Frost mocked through a mouth full of pancakes. He shot her a glare over his shoulder before entering the room. 

God he was so out of practice.


	12. Falling Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dick realizes that he spent the night how will he react to seeing Slade in the sunlight? Will he burst into flames or will he find himself feeling differently about the merc?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now I deserve to be stoned to death. I'm so sorry guys, I fucked up. It's been a really weird week and I've had a lot going on with classes and work again. I'm going to try shifting my update day to Friday instead of Tuesday, which I've already told some of you in the comments. But I did make this one a little longer to make up for being a horrible author and keeping you all hanging again. I hope you enjoy and we'll see if I can (hopefully) update on time this Friday. Thanks so much for all your support and your kind words in the comments. I love you all! <3

Dick sat up slowly, looking around the room. It was all so familiar, but it looked so much different with sunlight streaming in the window, giving purpose to all the shadows from the night before. He was equal parts surprised and unsurprised to find the walls lined with yet another impressive collection of book shelves, yet again more books and journals and papers spilling out into piles on the floor. 

The only thing that struck him as odd about the room was the sudden realization that there was no Slade in it. He forced himself to stay calm as he sat completely still, processing his situation, still blinking sleepily. He was slowly formulating a plan when the door opened and Slade Wilson aka Deathstroke the terminator walked in carrying a tray full of pancakes and coffee. 

For a long moment they stared at each other awkwardly across the room, the silence broken by a small meow. Dick looked down and was surprised to find a large orange cat rubbing himself on the mercenary’s legs, purring loudly. The cat looked straight at Dick, his eyes a startling, angry shade of green that caught the vigilante off guard. The cat let out a low growl, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“Grumbly, be nice,” Slade murmured nudging the small beast of a cat with his leg. The cat looked up at him with indignation on his face, but the merc didn’t see it as he crossed the room to give Dick the tray of food. 

“Grumbly?” Dick said after a moment, still staring at the cat who was slowly sauntering towards them.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Solomon Grumbly,” the mercenary admitted, shifting uncomfortably. Dick couldn't stop himself from snorting. 

“Solomon Grumbly?” 

“I named him Solomon,” Slade explained, blushing slightly. “The Frost added Grumbly.”

Dick watched intently, caught off guard by the mercenary’s embarrassment. Taking a huge bite of pancakes he studied the almost alarmingly vulnerable man as he reached down and scooped up the mountain of cat at his feet. 

There was something almost embarrassing to Dick about watching the merc this way. He pretended not to notice as Slade sat down on the edge of the bed, scratching Solomon Grumbly under the chin. Something about watching the older man this way felt more naked and intimate than any of the nights they’d spent together. He’d seen the man naked a hundred times, but he’d never felt like he’d seen so much of him before. 

“What time is it?” Dick asked eventually. 

“Only about nine,” Slade answered, Solomon Grumbly wandering off his lap and over to Dick. “Solomon,” Slade warned sternly, and Dick swore that the cat rolled his eyes. 

Grumbly walked up to the vigilante, sniffing his bare arm tentatively. Slowly Dick raised his hand, letting the cat sniff the tips of his fingers. Dick glanced up briefly to find Slade watching intently. His heart started beating a little harder as he looked back down at the cat who seemed to be pondering his fingers. Slowly grumbly started to rub his cheeks across the offered hand. Carefully Dick scratched the cat behind the ears, finger tips burrowing into thick, soft fur. Smiling widely Dick ran his fingers all the way down the cat’s back. 

Grumbly stretched, apparently satisfied, yawned, and hopped off the bed, strolling out the door and back into the living room. Slade shook his head, watching the cat go. Dick paid careful attention to the man, taking a long drink of his coffee. The silence returned and the two sat together, both with something to say and neither knowing how to say it. 

“So...” Slade was the first to break the quiet. “What made you stay?” 

Dick shrugged, hands absently checking to make sure that his mask was still in place. His fingers traced along the edges as he chose his response. “I just didn’t really feel like going home.” 

“Do you ever want to go home?” Slade asked in a way that implied that he knew the answer. Letting out a half-hearted snort Dick nodded in agreement, staring deep into his coffee. “Did you and the Bat have a fight again?”

Dick flinched at the sound of the question, his hand instinctively moving to cover a particular bruise. When he glanced up he could see real, unadulterated rage boiling just under the surface of the merc’s eye. Suddenly the piercing blue iris had taken on distinctive similarities to the protective ones of the cat who had only minutes ago walked out the door. Dick felt a wave of an emotion that he would rather ignore wash over him as he realized that he felt safer around the killer he once hunted than he ever did at home. 

“It’s not that bad,” he tried to reassure.

“Any blow delivered to a child by a parent is ‘that bad’,” Slade’s words didn't roll off the tongue so much as explode out of him the way lava does a volcano. “No exceptions.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You know what I mean.” Dick nodded slowly, eyes remaining glued to Slade’s, unable to look away. He watched as the seething rage dissipated and the merc’s gaze traveled across his upper torso, which was covered in scars and scrapes and, indeed, many other bruises. Dick shifted uncomfortably under the tenderness of the scrutiny, not used to anyone looking at him that way. “Do you want me to go...?”

His voice had escaped much smaller than he had intended, which made the merc look up at break neck speed. 

“Of course not,” Slade Wilson had never sounded so...so... “You can stay as long as you need.”

So much like home. 

“I just need to go home to get a couple things.”

“How do you still call it home?”

“I don’t have anywhere else.”

“You have here.”

Dick felt something strange growing in his chest and had to choke it back along with tears the he wanted to pretend were there because he was wearing the contacts that whitened his sharp blue irises while he slept. The awkward silence was gone but Dick wasn’t sure that what filled it, no matter how right it felt, was any less terrifying. 

“Can I have more pancakes?” 

Slade laughed genuinely and nodded, taking the plate from his lap and walking back into the living room. 

‘Fuck me,’ Dick thought as the merc left the room. He ran his hands through his hair. He knew the all-too-familiar sensation of falling when he felt it.

Dick Grayson was falling and he was falling hard. His only question was could he pull up or would he find himself smacking hard into the pavement?


	13. Grumble Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We watch as Slade deals with his anxiety, waiting for Nightwing to return. What better than a little bit of cat therapy to calm the weary soul?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I've been MIA for so long guys! I swear, I didn't forget about you! I just had many, many tests and many, many work conflicts. I've been running crazy for days. But the good news is that I've already written the next chapter, so I should be updating again soon. ;) So hopefully you spare my life long enough to get the next chapter. I'm so sorry that this one is so short, I promise, the next one is much longer and it is well worth the wait. <3

Slade sat by himself in his kitchen, slowly drinking a mug of coffee, lit cigarette dangling between his fingers as he stared into nowhere. The Frost left a little while after Nightwing had gone home to get his things, leaving him alone. 

He focused on breathing evenly, raising the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag. An ironic combination, he thought to himself. His mind was racing around the inside of his head like a caged lion.  
He flinched hard when Grumbly leapt up onto the table, sitting down in front of the brooding man. 

“Grumbly,” Slade sighed, reaching out and scratching the cat behind the ears. “What the hell am I doing?”

The cat meowed as if in response, rubbing his head along Slade’s finger tips, purring mildly. 

For a long time they just sat there like that, Slade giving Grumbly attention and Grumbly, obviously, loving it. After a while, when Slade had visibly relaxed, the cat stretched and yawned, hopping down off the table and into Slade’s lap, where he curled into a ball and fell asleep. 

Chuckling to himself, Slade shook his head, reaching for the book that lay next to him on the table, stubbing out the cigarette and opening the book the page marked by a pen. Lighting up a second cigarette he took another hard drag and let everything slip away behind the words on the page.


	14. My Name is Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick spends his first day at Slade's apartment. How will the awkward encounter go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy! I don't think I'll be posting next week, but I swear I'll try to have something for you the week after I get back!

Dick was nervous returning to Slade’s apartment, a large gym bag slung over his shoulder. He’d managed to sneak through Wayne Manor and into his room, tossing everything he would need into one bag. He’d left a note taped to Alfred’s door, letting him know not to worry when he didn’t come home that night. 

Dick put his mask on once he’d climbed into the service elevator and rode it to Slade’s floor. 

This was the first time the younger man entered the condo not already wrapped around the merc, and he was surprised to notice some things he hadn’t seen before. The space looked a lot larger in day light and it smelled intoxicatingly of aged paper and cigarette smoke. 

He was so busy taking in the sight that he didn’t notice the sound of tiny feet moving towards him. The little meow pulled him back to reality, and he looked down to find Solomon Grumbly staring up at him with huge, intense eyes, seeming to be waiting for something. 

Without thinking, Dick squatted to the cat’s level, holding his hand out to the cat. Grumbly studied it for a moment, leaning forward to sniff at it daintily. Then, looking Dick in the eye, the cat opened his mouth to gnaw on his fingers. Something about the way the cat did this made the vigilante feel as though it was a test, so he sat still and waited. When he didn’t react, Grumbly gave his hand a cursory lick before strolling away as though nothing had happened. 

Standing slowly Dick looked up to find Slade sitting, lost in a book, at his kitchen table. Clearing his throat, Dick kicked off his shoes before making his way over to the table. Slade looked up, his expression flickering towards something like surprise as his eye found the younger man’s. 

“Was there...” Dick shifted awkwardly, too embarrassed to make direct eye contact. “Um...I mean, do you have a guest bedroom you want me to stay in or...”

There was a long pause in which the vigilante could hear nothing besides the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Slade stood up slowly, moving towards Dick and taking the gym bag from him carefully. It was all Dick could do to keep his breathing even. 

“OF course not,” the low rumble of the older man’s voice caught the vigilante off guard. “You can stay in my room, like always. Unless you would prefer a guest room...?”

“No.” The answer came a little too quickly, but he didn’t care. All Dick could feel at that moment was relief as he watched Slade disappear into the bedroom with the bag. 

“Are you hungry?” The merc asked when he re-appeared. Before Dick could politely decline the offer of food his stomach gurgled loudly. With a smirk Slade motioned for the younger man to take a seat at the bar.  
Dick watched with fascination as the older man moved skillfully around the kitchen, boiling water, chopping up vegetables, throwing in pasta, and doing so without seeming to give it much thought. The younger man was so mesmerized that he didn’t realize that he’d been asked a question. 

“Sorry, what?” He stammered, blinking his way back into reality. 

“You know that you don’t need to wear the mask while you’re here, right?” He was stirring some sauce that was simmering nicely on the stove top. Dick blushed heavily as the merc glanced over his shoulder at him. “I mean, I’m not going to make you take it off, but I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable to wear all the time like that.”

He wasn’t wrong, Dick thought to himself. He found himself feeling conflicted, the Bat’s voice screaming at him from the back of his mind, while his own intuition told him that he could trust the mercenary. The older man could sense his distress and turned to face him better. 

“It’s not a decision you have to make today, kid,” he said, staring at him earnestly. “I won’t be insulted if you keep it on.”

Dick nodded slowly, realizing that his heart was racing once again. At the rate he was going he was going to grey in his thirties. 

They ate dinner together in relative silence, both seemingly lost in thought. For the rest of the night Dick explored the space, finding particular interest in his venture through Slade’s green house. 

Eventually, though, they decided to head to bed when the Frost came in looking bushed, glaring at Slade who was sitting on the couch where she slept, reading a book. Slade headed into the bedroom first, Dick waiting until he heard the man finish in the bathroom to follow after him. 

When he walked in Slade was undressing in the dark, the flow from the city lights tracing the curves and lines of the older man’s muscles. Dick felt a pulse that went straight down to his crotch, forcing himself to look away, grabbing his tooth brush from his bag and heading into the bathroom. He took off his clothes, staring at himself for a long moment before he left. Carefully he reached up and removed the mask, dropping it on the pile of clothes, gathering them in his arms, and turning the lights of before he left the bathroom. 

Carefully he moved across the room, Slade watching him as he moved. Sliding between the sheets he slid across the bed and let his skin press up against the warm, hard line of the mercenary’s body. One careful hand reached up, gentle, rough finger tips tracing down the side of his face. 

“No mask?”

“Uh...no...” Dick blushed. A low ‘hmm’ sounded from inside the chest the vigilante’s cheek rested on. Carefully Slade used his free arm, letting his fingers explore down the younger man’s arm across his exposed thigh and then to the inside, moving up slowly, finding his cock already rock hard. 

“Slade!” Dick gasped as the merc wrapped his hand around it carefully, giving it a light squeeze. His back arched off the bed and he couldn’t help but give a small whimper, his muscles quivering under the more experienced touch. 

“Do you want to?” Slade’s voice came out low and already ragged with obvious desire. 

“Y-yes!” 

This was all Slade needed to hear. A bottle of lube seemed to appear from nowhere, though Dick knew that this wasn’t possible, and Slade applied it generously to his hand and then his own erection. 

Before he could do anything else, Dick took over, catching the older man off guard. He pressed the mercenary down against the bed forcefully. Taking the bottle of lube from the man’s hand he guided the lubed fingers around to his ass, pressing them between his cheeks, rubbing down against them. Slade got the hint and pressed in carefully, stretching and prepping and swirling, first just one finger, then another, leaving Dick moaning and writhing on his hand. When Dick had decided he couldn’t wait any more he pushed the hand away. 

Reaching to the bedside table he grabbed a condom from the box that was sitting there and ripped it open fluidly with his teeth. Moving down momentarily he rolled it slowly down Slade’s erection, drawing out a deep, low groan, massaging extra lube on to drive the message home. Finally, when Slade was trembling under his touch he let go, positioning himself over the lubed up condom and pressed it inside him. He shuddered around the larger man’s erection, pausing to catch his breath.

Slade’s hands traveled to his hips, thumbs massaging eager circles where the pelvic bone stuck out. Once he was ready again, Dick started riding down, slowly at first as he got his bearings, but then much more aggressively. He watched as Slade’s head snapped back against the pillow, his breathing ragged, pulse throbbing in the beautiful length of his neck as he thrust himself up into Dick, his moans anything but quiet.   
Dick came first, which wasn’t unusual, Slade following moments after with one final cry. Once he thought he could move again Dick slid off the older man, removing the condom and tossing it into the trashcan next to the bed before collapsing against the bare, sweaty chest of his freshly winded mercenary. 

“Nightwing...” Slade breathed into the darkness. For a long moment Dick lay there, biting his lip before saying anything.

“Dick,” he said after a moment.

“Sorry?”

“My name is Dick.”


	15. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick deals with the challenges of trying to safely ping-pong between Wayne Manor and Slade's condo. What happens when Bruce inevitably realizes that the young vigilante has been slipping away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Verbal and Physical abuse

Dick would stay in the refuge of Slade’s condo for just a few days at a time at first, trying to maintain the sense of his presence at Wayne Manor as much as possible. But the more time the younger man spent in the mercenary’s home, the harder it became to force himself to leave. He and Slade had grown much closer in only a few weeks of him staying there, which made things even more dangerous for the younger man. 

If Dick had been an insomniac before Slade Wilson had walked into his life, he was even worse now that he had to spend nights without him. Rarely did he get more than two or three hours of sleep on the nights he was away from the comfort and safety of the mercenary and his bed. He filled up the emptiness of the nights with extra training and catching up on the homework he often neglected. He did his best to go unnoticed, acting as if nothing had changed. Unfortunately this was a nearly impossible feat when the master detective was constantly there, eyes following his every move. 

He was bent over a text book, trying to decode the strange language of his math gen ed, when he heard the door to his room open. All at once his blood ran cold and his senses heightened, though he didn’t turn around, pretending to be too absorbed in his work. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Alfred would have knocked before entering (he’d walked in on Dick doing things he’d rather not have seen one too many times). Bruce, however, was always lurking around, waiting to catch Dick doing anything he would see fit for punishment. There hadn’t been a day gone bye in years when Dick didn’t feel like he was walking on egg shells in the huge manor. It was exhausting, to say the least, but at the same time it was the reason he could never sleep when he was there. 

“You’ve been disappearing a lot lately, Dick,” the low voice rumbled behind him. His heart sank when he realized that he hadn’t been careful enough. “Is this something I should be worrying about?”

Dick said nothing for a long moment, mind racing through the options, though he suspected he already knew the only possible outcome of the situation. He ignored the suspicion and decided to go with his gut instinct to lie his way out of it. 

“I’ve just been staying some nights at friends’ houses.” He turned and met a familiar harsh gaze that stopped his breath in his lungs. The entire weight of gravity from those eyes seemed to rest squarely on the younger man’s chest, daring him to breathe against it. Somehow he managed to keep his breathing smooth, a skill gained purely from years of practice, though one that never seemed to work around Slade. 

Bruce saw right though his façade, though. Rage flashed in his eyes and Dick felt his heart beat explode through his body, fight or flight instinct telling him to run.

“I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me the truth, Dick.” 

'Oh my God, his mind was screaming. Does he know about Slade? Did he follow me? I was so careful, how did he find out? There’s no way he knows, is there? Please, please, please, I don’t want it to be over. I want to go home!'

“I’m telling the truth!” He stammered through his panic, his body tense and ready to fight. 

“You’ve never spent much time with friends before, why should I believe that something has changed?” He spat, moving slowly, circling Dick as though he were pray in a cage. “You’ve been nearly reclusive for months, and you expect me to believe that you’ve suddenly decided to ‘get out there’ again?”

“I-I-“ Dick searched for words, but failed, panic and desperation wiping his mind clean. 

“Something must have happened to turn you around, Dick, I’m not stupid, I know how you work. You never change your direction until someone gives you a push. I would know, I’ve done it before.”

Dick was overwhelmed with a sick feeling as he fought with the memory of watching his parents plummet to their deaths, one of the only memories he had of them. That was when Bruce had come to him and brought him in on his dark, secret crusade for justice. But time had revealed that Bruce Wayne had lost sight of the quest for justice long ago. The only thing that was left of that original ideal was a twisted, warped desire for revenge that Dick wanted no part of, but somehow could never fully escape. He’d been so intoxicated by the idea that he could make a difference when he was younger that it took him years to see the truth, and the world had grown so complicated once it was there that he was no longer sure where he fit into any of it. To call his dilemma in switching from Robin to Nightwing an ‘identity crisis’ would be putting it lightly. Never in his life had he felt like he’d been so lost as when he found himself tied up in a cause that he had never really been behind. 

Bruce was right when he said that something, or rather someone, had put him on a different path after the collapse of identity. But there was no way of him ever explaining to Batman; the caped crusader, world’s best detective that the thing that had saved him from complete personal destruction was the mercenary that they had spent years trying to bring to Bruce’s so-called ‘justice’. Hell, he’d never even told Bruce that he was gay, too afraid of the loss of approval and inevitably crueler beatings. 

“What was it, then, Dick?” Bruce was moving closer, the space between them quickly closing. The younger man started to feel extremely claustrophobic, his heart racing so quickly that he was sure that it would just stop in his chest, exhausted from the acceleration. “What was it that ‘saved’ you when it was you that was supposed to be out saving others? What was it that pulled you back off that ledge while you were being so selfish?”  
The words stung and their bite made his throat swell and his chest ache. He had to fight the tears welling in his eyes, because if Bruce saw them he would beat him harder for being weak. So instead he stammered, voice raw and weak, searching for words. Before he could find the ones he needed he received a hard backhand across his face, knocking him out of his desk chair and onto the floor. 

He found himself staring up at the ceiling, wondering how he got there, not yet feeling the pain in his cheek. In seconds Bruce was on top of him and Dick’s panic sank in all over again. He managed to block another right-handed swing and then a swift left-handed one, but missed the next one and received a hit directly to his nose. The crack resounded loudly in the room, even louder in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull. He gasped for air, the taste of his own blood overwhelming his mouth from a deep cut on his inner cheek. His eyes had gone fuzzy from the blow that, he assumed, had broken his nose, so he was completely incapable of defending himself from the series of hard blows that Bruce delivered across his torso and face until he was sure that he was completely numb from the pain. 

He was just at the brink of passing out when something made Bruce stop suddenly and stand up, spitting down on him before leaving. 

For a long time Dick lay there, eyes blurry and out of focus, wondering whether or not he was going to pass out this time. All he could taste and smell was the blood that filled his mouth. His mind was a haze and he couldn’t think straight, all he could think of was the pain and how much he hurt, it hurt so bad, he wanted it to stop, to stop, stop, stop, stop, he just wanted to go home. 

His eyes focused suddenly as his thoughts narrowed to that one thought. 'Home. I’ll just go home.' Slowly he struggled to his feet and reached for support as he stopped for a moment, staring down at where he had been laying. He’d never had the feeling that he had a way out before. There was nowhere else to go on the many other nights that this had happened. 

That had changed. 

He grabbed a bag, cramming more clothes and supplies into it. This time, he told himself, he was going to stay as long as he damn well pleased. This time he didn’t care if Bruce noticed that he was gone. He could go fuck himself for all Dick cared. He changed out of his study clothes into some dark jeans and a faded old T-shirt, pulling on a shabby old hoodie and yanking the hood up to hide his face. 

'I’m going home.' He caught a cab and told the driver to take him across town. 'I’m going home.' He had the driver drop him off two blocks away. 'I’m going home.' He made his way down the back alleys until he found himself in the one he wanted. 'I’m going home.' He put his things down and leaned against the wall of the building behind him as he stared up at the familiar building, suddenly realizing that Slade may not even be home. 

He pulled out his cellphone as his thoughts raced with a new paranoia. What if Slade turned him away? What if the mercenary decided that he didn’t need the extra baggage in his life? What if he had given up his identity to the man for nothing? What if Slade decided that he couldn’t love someone so pathetic? 

The thoughts whirled through his head, one after another, as he hit the speed dial and put the phone to his ear. His heart thundered as he listened to the tone. Finally Slade picked up. 

“Hello?”

“Are you at home?” His voice shook despite his best efforts. 

“Yes...Dick?” The merc knew that something was wrong, and to Dick’s relief the man sounded concerned. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m...I’m in the alley behind your building...Slade everything hurts.” He choked on the last words and he felt his jaw clamp shut. Closing his eyes he listened as Slade stood up, a chair scraping loudly behind him.   
“Wait right there, I’m coming to get you.” As it always was, Slade’s voice was steady and strong, but there was something else that Dick recognized on the most base level. Something animalistic and instinctual that struck him deeply and, though it wasn’t at all directed at him, made him shiver, despite the heat of the night. 

The line went dead, but Dick forgot to take the phone away from his ear for a long moment. Slade was coming, he told himself, light headed relief flowing over him once again. Slade would make everything okay. Everything would be okay. 

When the mercenary made his way out of the building he was moving in quick, purposeful strides, every inch of him tense, powerful muscle. He closed the distance between them swiftly, but Dick was feeling vulnerable and desperate for the older man’s embrace. When the merc was only ten feet away the younger man moved forward, arms already raising to wrap around the strong, reliable neck of his lover. Slade pulled him in, getting his message loud and clear, holding him tightly, burying his face in the younger man’s thick, dark hair. 

“What happened?” Dick was caught off guard by the older man’s voice, which was usually so smooth and even, but now came out shaky with emotion. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

The younger man couldn’t find his voice, so he just clung harder, eyes squeezed tight as he burrowed his face gingerly into the side of the older man’s neck. Carefully Slade managed to push him back enough to peer into the younger man’s face through the shadows. 

As he caught sight of the blood crusted onto Dick’s lip and the blackening right eye Slade let out a low growl before hoisting him up with his large, strong arms. Slade went back to grab the bags Dick had brought with him. Dick felt himself relax into the larger man’s arms, his mind letting go with his body. 

'I’m home.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took so long to post the new chapter! As you can see it is a little bit longer and it was really hard to write. But I hope that you enjoyed! I will try to get another chapter up as soon as I can! I hope your weeks all go splendidly! <3


	16. Standing in the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade deals with the aftermath of the Bat's rampage. Will the Frost be able to cool him down, or will his emotions win him over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry my updates are so scattered. After this week I should be picking up the pace again. Finals are getting the better of me and I've been dealing with a lot of random friend drama. Losing friends is kind of eating up my determination to write at the moment, but I promise I will be bouncing back for you! Thanks so much for being so supportive! I hope you enjoy the chapter, I will update as soon as I can! <3

Slade carried the smaller man cradled against his body up to his apartment, pausing only to kick open the door that hadn’t closed all the way behind him when he’d dashed out at the younger man’s call. He made his way through the living room, past where the Frost was sprawled across his couch, ignoring the look of moderate horror on her face as she got a good look at his precious cargo, and into the bathroom. Gently he put Dick down on the counter before digging his Frist-Aid supplies out from the cabinets under the sink. 

Methodically Slade wiped away blood, disinfecting cuts and scrapes, giving the younger man an icepack for his eye, testing limbs for breaks or fractures, discovering a couple of cracked ribs, giving him pain meds so that he would be able to sleep off the worst of the pain that night, re-setting the broken nose, anything. Anything at all to detach himself from the reality behind the situation. Finally, though, there was nothing left for him to do to distract himself. 

Dick stared at him vulnerably from where he sat, looking smaller than usual, his big blue eyes pleading for something that Slade was almost afraid to give him. Fear had never been a familiar sensation to the larger man, but Dick brought many new emotions to the table in their rapidly growing relationship, leaving Slade just as exposed as the younger man looked. Leaning forward, palms pressed flat to the sparkling granite counter on either side of Dick’s thighs, he leaned his forehead carefully against the younger man’s, closing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, rage coursing through him, diluted only by a sickening feeling of helplessness that left his stomach churning. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but an unwelcome one all the same. He pressed a gentle kiss to the younger man’s lips, flinching back as the younger man winced in pain from the split on his lower lip. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Slade...I’m cold...” Dick sounded exhausted as he swayed slightly in front of the older man, eyes flickering with emotions and lids slowly sliding closed. Slade nodded, once again picking up the small, limp form of his lover and carrying him out into the bedroom. Slowly he undressed the younger man before wrapping him in several blankets, practically swaddling him. He sat with Dick bundled in his lap, rocking him slowly until, all too quickly, he fell asleep in a mixture of exhaustion and the drugs Slade had given him to take away the pain. 

The mercenary sat there, watching the steady, familiar rise and fall of the younger man’s chest. Finally he lay Dick down in the bed, tucking him in with yet another blanket and making sure that he was comfortable before leaving the room quietly. 

He emerged from the bedroom, Dick’s breathing finally soft and even behind him. The Frost looked up, their eyes locking across the room. She looked confused and more than a little bit scared, waiting cautiously for him to say something. He just stood for a long time, his hand still resting on the door knob. 

“Slade?” She moved slowly towards him from where she had been sitting on the couch. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he heard himself say, but she looked unconvinced. She lead him slowly back to the couch, making him sit. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?” She asked gently. “Is Dick okay?”

“The Bat hit him.” He felt something in his chest stir, something hot and angry. “That abusive bastard beat the hell out of his own fucking child.”

The spark exploded and before he knew what had happened he was on his feet, the Frost holding him back as he struggled to get to the door. In the end she had to restrain him in a giant block of ice, leaving his head free so she could talk to him. 

“Frost, let me fucking go,” his voice was a low growl as he struggled against the ice. 

“I will,” she said flippantly, sitting in a chair across from him. “But you can’t leave.”

“Why fucking not?”

“Because you’re going to do something stupid, and I can’t risk what that might be.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“Let’s think about this with our not-angry-Slade-brains, shall we?” She sat forward, eyes still semi-glowing from using her powers. “So let’s say that you do go out and kill this asshole. He’s still Dick’s father, adoptive and abusive or not. How well do you think he’ll handle that? I know that ideally he’d be happy and relieved to not lie in constant fear of the abuse, but you’ve been in abusive relationships before. Is it ever that easy?”

He said nothing, hating that he knew she was right.

“So, you have that on the one hand. On the other hand, in your state of rage, suppose that you get caught? Where does that leave Dick then? You’re not around to help any more, no one’s left to give him an escape route that isn’t the one he was looking to use when you met. Do you really want to ponder what could happen then?”

His stomach rolled uncomfortably, and without realizing it he had stopped struggling against his icy restraint. The Frost saw this and kept going.

“Because you know the government has a special cell with your name on it that you won’t be able to escape from. Then who does he have? I can try to take care of him, because I know what he means to you, but I can’t be around all the time, and I’m definitely not you.”

Slade remained quiet for a long time, the fight all gone out of him. He felt helpless, which was a feeling he didn’t experience often and didn’t really care for. Carefully the Frost let him out of the block of ice, its huge existence vanishing without leaving any trace. Once again she pulled him back to the couch, wrapping a blanket around him before pressing herself into his side. 

“So what the hell am I supposed to do, then?” He finally asked, draping one arm around her shoulders. 

“There’s not much that you can do.”

“What did you do when it was me in his place?”

“Just be around. Let him know that you’re not going anywhere.”

They sat together in an absent, contemplative silence until, inevitably, the Frost fell asleep. Tucking her in on the couch, Slade slowly made his way back into the bedroom, where Dick was sound asleep.


	17. Rediscovering Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he wakes up, still somewhat dazed in pain, Dick realizes that he has a lot of things to think about, his view of everything he knew shifting to a new, terrifying place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! It's me, the terrible over lord who never updates on time. You might remember me (or maybe not, it's been a while). I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! I'm going to try to get the next chapter up by the end of next week, but, let's be real, you all know that my promises aren't worth shit. Thanks so much for reading and putting up with my unreliable updating bullshit. Please feel free to let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments! <3

Dick’s sleep started off restless and nightmare-riddled, slowly fading in and out of horrors. When he woke up he remembered there being a huge black weight on top of him as he lay naked, shrouded in darkness, sickening shadows slithering over his vulnerable skin as he writhed, trying to escape. Terror rampaged through him along with a deep, disgust with himself. It seemed to go on forever, until, suddenly, it vanished, replaced by a deep, comforting warmth that wrapped around his every sense, settling protectively over his skin. The darkness of the dream turned slowly from something malicious to a gentle presence, whispering sweetly in his ear, feather light kisses sweeping over his body, cleansing him of the feelings of fear and disgust, gently lowering him into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

When Dick woke up he was welcomed by a dull, constant ache covering his body. He groaned slightly, but he had to admit, he had woken up to worse. Slowly he crept into more total consciousness, feeling a weight on the bed next to him, a lighter weight resting on his stomach. Glancing down he saw Slade’s familiar, massive hand resting on top of the blankets protectively, twitching with slowly waning sleep. He listened for a while to the steady inhale and exhale of his lover, feeling it, soft and reassuring, on the side of his neck. 

He turned his neck to rest more comfortably, watching the face of the man next to him, resting softly on the pillow next to him. Slowly the older man started to twitch back into consciousness, his eye slowly flickering open and closed again. He noted that Slade slept with his eye patch on. Wondering if it was uncomfortable he realized that he’d never seen the older man without the black patch. Tracing the strap through the man’s thick, soft, white hair he watched as Slade’s good eye slid open all the way, blinking in the light.

“Hey,” the older man mumbled, voice softened by sleep. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” Dick murmured, running his fingers under Slade’s thick, white hair, tracing along his scalp, drawing out a low, rumbling groan of pleasure from the semi-conscious mercenary. He couldn’t help but crack a smile at the resemblance in that moment between the large man and the house cat, who was working his way in the bedroom door at that exact moment. The cat waddled across the room and leapt up onto the bed, swaggering smugly forward. Before he could settle in his favorite spot on Dick’s chest, Slade reached over and scooped him up, pulling him into a ball on his chest. 

“None of that today, Grumbles,” Slade murmured, mussing the scruff of the large orange cat’s neck. The cat looked up at him indignantly, as if waiting for an explanation. “Dick isn’t feeling good. You’ll hurt him if you sit on his chest.” Oddly enough the cat seemed to understand and, turning in a couple of circles before flopping over onto his back, snuggling against Slade’s bare chest, purring contently. Absently Slade rubbed the exposed kitty stomach as he looked at Dick. “What do you want for breakfast? Do you need any more pain meds?”

“I’m fine, mom,” Dick chuckled, reaching over and brushing a stray strand of hair out of his lover’s face. “Pancakes would be nice.”

Nodding Slade crawled carefully over Dick and, pulling on a pair of worn pajama pants before slipping out of the room, the glow from the window accenting the contours of his back muscles as he walked. 

The door clicked softly shut behind Slade, leaving Dick staring up at the ceiling with only his thoughts. The entire previous night raced through his mind in a loop. He couldn’t ignore the fact that when he’d thought about ‘going home’ every ounce of him had screamed that home was no longer Wayne Manor, but the pent house of a mercenary that he used to avidly hunt, both with the Bat and with the Teen Titans. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, reaching up and running a hand through his hair, snagging on tangles and bed head. He’d known for a while that he was getting in deep, but he’d been ignoring it, telling himself that he could walk away any time he wanted to. Obviously he’d been wrong, and he couldn’t help but feel the rising wave of panic taking over as he listened to the faint sound of Slade making pancakes in the kitchen. 

He contemplated running, he thought about smashing his way out the window, he came up with a million escape plans, but had no idea what to do. He tried to force himself to get up and run over and over again, but all he could do was listen and wait, the smell of the pancakes drifting in. He almost got up to leave as the smell got stronger, but just as he started moving Solomon Grumbly moved over to where he was laying and flopped down, curling against his side, exposing his belly. Looking up at Dick with big, green eyes the cat meowed, nudging Dick’s arm slightly. With a sigh, Dick reached down and started rubbing the cat’s belly. 

Before he knew it Slade was walking in the door, a huge tray of pancakes in tow. As the larger man settled down on the bed next to him, helping him sit up with large, surprisingly gentle hands, Dick came to a sudden realization. 

Slade was home now. And there had never been a damned thing he could have done about it.


	18. Who Could Love What's Left?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade returns home from a particularly rough job. As he looks in the mirror at the aftermath he sees a man shredded by his past and by what his healing factor has put him through. He finds himself wondering who could love what his life has left of him. He has is mind set on leaving Dick, but will he find the task easier said than done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry guys, I know I'm awful. I used to be so good at updating. Here's the newest chapter! I hope you can forgive me for the long wait. Enjoy!

Slade watched helplessly over months as one young man took over his emotions. Something in him had known for a while that he'd lost a piece of himself to the younger man long before they had officially grown into their relationship, but he'd held himself back until that fatal moment. Or so he'd thought. The night that Dick had called, and he'd found the younger man waiting for him in the alley, two broken ribs, a broken nose, a black eye, split lip, painful breathing, sad eyes, he knew that he'd been lying to himself, though he couldn’t tell for how long. 

It scared him more than anything had scared him for a long time. He'd seen wars, he'd stared down the barrels of countless guns, he'd been the one holding the gun a couple of times. He'd 'officially' participated in a couple of wars, seen numerous war crimes. Off the record he'd participated in a few more. Even ones that many hadn't known had been fought. Slade Joseph Wilson had survived many things that had scared him. But somehow, he found, none of them had scared him quite as much as realizing that he had had no power over falling for a man even less than half his age. 

He thought about it as he stripped out of his trade mark armor, blood crusted into his hair, trying to do so as quietly as possible as he stared down at the all-too-familiar-form of Dick's sleeping body, silhouetted in city lights and moon beams. Every muscle exposed to the light left a tiny shadow to accent it. The realization stuck him again and again how young Dick Grayson really was, and how old at the same time. His mind ran circles as he stowed his armor and slipped into the bathroom.

Staring at himself in the mirror he pulled the elastic band out of his hair, letting it fall awkwardly around his face, half of it limp with sweat, half of it crusted with blood. Peeling off his undershirt he peered at several quickly fading stab wounds, almost unrecognizable among the scars he'd received before the healing factor had kicked in, each and every one a testimony to the horrible things that had racked up and shredded him up and left behind someone that, for a long time, he hadn't recognized. 

Sighing he turned to the shower and stepped in, not bothering to wait for the water to grow warm. He watched the blood trailing down into the drain and wondered how many times he'd done it before. The whole time he showered he couldn't shake the feeling of Dick's presence in the other room as he slept. he wondered his way down a million different outcomes, in and out of heart breaks and tragedies, unable to see a happy outcome. 

He told himself a hundred times to walk away, because no matter how their relationship ended, he would be the one left to hurt for eternity. His healing factor would be sure of that. He thought of Wade, sleeping, he was sure, probably happy, in the apartment that he shared with Peter in New York. He laughed to himself as he toweled off, remembering once, on a bad night that he'd run to his brother, when Wade had told him that he was the strongest man he'd ever met. He knew now, more than ever, that he wasn't strong. Strength was Wade searching for an engagement ring, even though he would live forever and Peter would never be more than mortal. Strength was Wade's unwavering loyalty and devotion to a man he knew would leave him, one way or another. 

Slade had always suspected that Wade was the stronger of the Wilson brothers. On that night he knew that he had his proof. 

When he wiped off the mirror, the man he saw in the reflection looked ancient. His good eye was haunted by ages of ghosts and the shadow of a man who'd never existed, the last remaining echo of a boy who'd died on a battlefield before he could really begin to live. 

Dick was still sleeping peacefully on the bed when he left the bathroom. The younger man's dark hair lay in a pool around his head on the pillow, his chest rising and falling gently, brow furrowed from whatever dream he was having. 

Slade crept into bed, careful not to wake his sleeping partner. Before he even got into bed he decided to leave the younger man. He lay down, his body heavy and weary from the job he'd just done and the one that he'd decided he had to do. For a few moments the room was quiet. 

Quiet rustling undid Slade Joseph Wilson. The simple, quiet sound of Dick rolling over, his naked body curling carefully into Slade's side, the soft sigh, the relaxing of his eyebrows, the slight smile that slid over his sleeping face as Slade watched, Dick Grayson nailed the final nail into the older man's metaphorical coffin. That was when Slade knew that there would be no leaving. Dick was stuck with him, for better or for worse.


	19. Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The winter break is over, but when he goes back to classes Dick gets a shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, I'm so sorry that it took me so long to put up another update. I promise, I'm going to try to set up a more stable set up for updates, hopefully I'll be able to get on a more regular update schedule soon. Until then, thank you all so much for reading and I hope that you enjoy this chapter. <3 I hope you have an awesome day, wherever you are.

Dick careened through the hallways, cheeks flush, a light sheen glistening on his forehead as his head snapped left then right then left again, searching for the right room. He swore heavily under his breath as he found the right room. 

Before he had known it, winter break had passed right out from under him at a break neck pace. He’d spent much of it lounging on Slade’s couch, watching bad day time TV with Killer Frost in their pj’s while waiting for Slade to get home from whatever random errands he ran around doing during the day. He couldn’t think of a time in his life where he’d ever felt so at ease and so at home, and he’d never suspected that he could feel that way with people like ‘Deathstroke the Terminator’ and Killer Frost. 

But the more time he spent with the Frost the more he realized why Slade never kicked her out or made her leave. They’d grown extremely close during commercial breaks between episodes of bad soaps and Jerry Springer. He’d found himself an unexpected yoga partner in her (as well as in the Grumbles, who loved to express his support by weaving his way between their limbs), and something of an older sister. 

Unfortunately it all came to a screeching halt, and here he was, finding himself late, lost, and confused. He’d mixed up his times and found himself nearly half an hour late for class, and on the first day of all things. He burst in through the door, his eyes immediately falling upon a familiar face that made his heart nearly leap out of his throat. 

Sitting there across the room in the desk on the very end of the conversational half circle (such as were standard for literary classes like the one he was walking in to) was none other than Slade Wilson, staring up at him in a semi-stunned expression of surprise. Dick froze right there in the door without realizing it, mouth slightly agape as he tried to process the situation. An outraging half smile spread slowly across Slade’s face as he watched the younger man flounder there in the door way until the professor cleared his throats several long, awkward seconds later. Dick jolted harshly as if he’d fallen asleep that way and just woken up. 

“Would you like to take a seat?” The professor gestured. Slade’s smirk deepened as he followed Dick’s eyes to the only seat left in the room; one lone desk jammed directly across from him, crammed between two other chairs and behind the first row of students. He had to force himself not to laugh outwardly as the spry younger man struggled over and through several of his fellow students in an attempt to gracefully reach his seat. One particular young woman glared haughtily at him when he nearly knocked over her travel mug of coffee.   
Once Dick was somewhat settled into his spot the professor continued. Dick attempted to slouch as low as he could in the uncomfortable desk. Unfortunately, no matter how low he slouched he still had a direct view of Slade and his lopsided smirk. While the older man was now directing his gaze towards the professor, eyes flicking occasionally between the front of the room and his note book, the smirk remained firmly in place throughout the predominant portion of the rest of the class. Dick found himself calculating quietly to himself exactly how many days were left in the semester, finding the number unacceptably high. 

When the class finally let out he shoved his notebook, which had remained note-less for lack of a writing utensil (he knew he’d forgotten something that morning, but hadn’t had the courage to ask someone around him for one) into his backpack as he waited for the seats around him to clear out more so he wouldn’t be forced to repeat his earlier acrobatics to exit the classroom. Glancing up he saw Slade standing at the front of the room chatting it up with the professor like they knew each other, which made something in Dick’s stomach flutter nauseatingly, giving his feet that much more speed once he actually managed to leave the classroom. 

His heart was thundering so loudly in his ears when he finally left that he almost didn’t hear Slade jogging after him and calling his name. Feeling as though something was caught in his throat Dick didn’t bother to turn around, though he knew full well that the larger man would catch him one way or another. 

“Dick, wait!” There was still a touch of a smile across the older man’s face which brought on another light touch of color to Dick’s cheeks. 

“Sorry, can’t stop, I’m going to go drown myself in a toilet, see you later.”

Slade chuckled quietly, hand shooting out to catch the younger man’s wrist, yanking him into the elevator as they passed. Before Dick could get out a protest the older man hit the button to close the doors before hitting another button to take them to the top floor of the building. 

“Slade, no, I-“

The larger man moved forward, placing his large hands on either side of the younger man’s face, trapping him there before pressing a long, needy kiss to his lips. Dick let out a muffled yelp of surprise before melting slightly under the heat of the kiss. 

Before he could begin to process what was happening the elevator gave a ding that let them know they had reached their floor. Slade tugged Dick along behind him by the hand as he led him down the hall towards a bathroom. Glancing around Dick saw that the top floor was populated by a lot of abandoned looking offices before they disappeared into an unpopulated bathroom. 

Once the door was closed behind them Slade turned and locked the door before shoving Dick roughly up against the wall, pushing his backpack strap off his arm, letting it fall to the ground, pressing their lips together tightly as his hands roamed down the front of the younger man’s shirt. Dick’s mouth opened in a pleasured gasp as one of Slade’s massive hands slid into the front of his pants and taking hold of his half-erect penis. Slade used the opening to deepen his kiss, tongue playing along the inside of the younger man’s mouth.   
With his free hand Slade undid the jeans that were blocking his view and let them slide to the floor around Dick’s ankles, then pushing down the boxer briefs to join them. Dick let out a moan that traveled down the older man’s spine in hot, lusty waves, making him shiver into the kiss as he stroked the younger man until he was completely hard. 

“Slade,” Dick breathed, his own hands traveling to the front of Slade’s pants, fumbling with the belt and the clasp on the jeans. He managed to shove them to the ground, stroking the lump that he found underneath the older man’s underwear. He smiled into their kiss as he felt a growl rumbling through the older man’s chest, hips thrusting forward into Dick’s hand. Slade shoved down his underwear, breaking away from the kiss briefly to grab something from his bag. 

“Seriously?” Dick stared as the man turned around, a small portable size bottle in his hand. 

“What?”

“Who the hell carries lube and condoms around everywhere they go?”

“Anyone who’s ever been caught in a situation where they needed them and didn’t have them,” Slade chuckled as he rolled on a condom and lubed himself up, pouring more out onto his fingers and reaching between Dick’s legs, drawing out a gasp from the younger man as he teased him with his fingers.

“Fuck, Slade, hurry up!” He hissed, fingers tangling into the older man’s white hair, his head snapping back, pressing against the wall. He could hear Slade chuckling, even as the grip the younger man had on his hair tightened. 

Once Slade had Dick nice and prepped he stood up suddenly enough to make the younger man jump in surprise. He grabbed Dick by the thighs and slid him up the wall until the younger man was straddling his hips. He bit gently at the exposed skin on the younger man’s neck, pressing himself carefully against the younger man. He stopped, looking up before he forced himself in, to meet Dick’s eyes. The younger man rolled his eyes.

“Can we skip this part? You know I want you.”

Chuckling Slade thrust his hips forward, erasing all the sass and snark from Dick’s face, leaving only unfocussed eyes and slightly parted lips. The young man let out a low whine, his arms wrapping around behind Slade’s back, fingernails digging into his shirt and the skin below it. Every thrust pressed Dick a little harder into the wall so he could feel the outline of every tile. 

“Oh God...S-Slade...Fuck!”

“Shhh,” Slade murmured quietly in Dick’s ear. “You don’t want to get us caught, do you?” Dick let out a low, desperate groan, wiggling around the older man. “You’re such a horrible, dirty boy aren’t you?”

“Will you stop talking and just fuck me?” Dick gasped. 

Smirking Slade did what the young man asked and picked up the pace again, leaning forward to press his lips into the nape of his neck. He could feel Dick tightening around him and it was sending waves of pleasure up into his chest, bringing him closer and closer to his climax. 

From the sounds Dick was making he could tell that the young man was growing close as well. His sound of pleasure became more rapid and sharp, firing rapidly with desperation. Reaching down Slade took Dick’s cock in his hand and started stroking it in time with his thrusts, eliciting a delicious sound that nearly forced him over the edge. It was only seconds later that Dick came with a sharp cry, his body contracting sharply around Slade, whose orgasm followed swiftly after. 

Chuckling to himself as the two came down from their collective high, Slade couldn’t help but think ‘the perfect kick off to a new semester’.


	20. All Falls Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick knew that things were going a little too perfectly. Something had to go wrong, something had to disrupt how well he had been doing. Sometimes all it takes to shatter everything you've worked for are three little words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...hi guys...I'm going to start off with a huge apology for making you guys wait...what is it now...over six months for an update? Yeah, uh...heh, whoops. I'll put my pitiful excuse for an explanation in the notes at the end of the chapter, but I want to thank all of you so much for being so supportive of me, even though I wasn't updating. Seriously, guys, without fail I would get a couple comments every one or two months with such kind and supportive words, it really helped me through some stuff, so thank you all for being such wonderful readers. Alright, I'm going to stop being sappy now, thanks so much guys. Enjoy the chapter!

Slade found himself sitting across the table from Dick one night, and felt a piece of himself falling, and he realized that it’d been falling for a while, but all at once he could feel it. Every night now, Dick would sit at the island, a sketch book open in front of him as he talked to Slade who would make them both dinner. The routine felt so natural and so easy that the older man hadn’t caught it before, but by the time he had it was too late. He had fallen in love with the younger man.

Dick sat slouched in his chair, hunched over a sketch book, a woodless graphite pencil clutched in his hand as he sketched, remembering to take a bite of dinner every few minutes or so. Slade couldn’t help but smile, glancing up from the book he was working on to watch Dick make faces at whatever it was that he was trying to sketch before going back to reading. 

Once he finished his dinner he stood, picking up his plate and moving around the table to where Dick was sitting. 

“Are you done with yours?” He murmured, reaching down and gently touching the younger man on the shoulder. Nodding slightly Dick leaned into Slade’s hip briefly and sighing contently before going back to sketching. Slade took the young man’s plate and made his way into the kitchen to do the dishes that had been created throughout the day. 

The Frost was always making fun of him for having such a high-end apartment with no dishwasher, but he had always found something relaxing about the process of doing the dishes at the end of the day. He switched on a small radio on the counter and started running the water in the sink, scraping plates clean and setting them to soak in the water. He started the steady, easy ritual, letting himself relax and feel content as he scrubbed the mess away and setting cleaned dishes aside to dry, humming to the music quietly. He smiled to himself as he felt the Grumbles rubbing himself across the back of his ankles, winding between them, purring loudly. He took a piece of fish from the food he’d made and dropped it to the floor for the cat to eat. He heard a small chirp of approval from the floor as Grumbly moved forward to consume the food. 

He was almost completely done cleaning up when the feeling of arms circling around his waist pulled him out of the semi-trance he was in. He could feel Dick press his face into his back and smiled to himself as he put the last plate onto the drying wrack. He was about to turn around when he felt Dick’s hands reaching down and slipping under his shirt. The older man’s breath caught in his throat and his hands immediately gripped at the edge of the counter. He could hear Dick let out a brief, sharp breath, laughing at Slade’s reaction. Delicate fingers slid across Slade’s skin, traveling, first, up towards the mercenary’s chest, and then scraping lightly down again, drawing out grunts and brief gasps. Slade could feel Dick searching for something, trying to get something out of him. His eye shut tight he tried to steady his breathing, opening his mouth to say something, when Dick’s hands slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, tracing down sensitive skin until they found his cock, growing hard under his touch. When a strangled cry escaped his lips Slade knew that Dick had gotten exactly what he wanted, one hand stroking up and down his length, the other slowly traveling up his torso again, tracing lightly along their way. 

“God, Dick!” Slade growled, leaning forward, knuckles turning white as he gripped at the counter. “I swear to fucking God...”

“What’re you going to do, big boy?” Dick purred, free hand playing with one of Slade’s nipples. “Are you going to punish me?”

Growling Slade yanked himself free of the younger man’s hands, whirling around and taking him in his arms, capturing his mouth with his own. Dick let out a brief noise that was caught between surprise and a satisfied laugh, his arms reaching up and wrapping around Slade’s neck, grinding his hips forward into the older man’s. Reaching down Slade scooped up Dick, pulling the younger man’s legs around his waist as he moved them out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. '

Kicking the door closed behind them Slade moved over to the bed, letting Dick drop carefully onto the mattress, pausing to steady himself. Dick laughed up at him, hands trailing seductively down his front and undoing his own pants as he licked his lips, holding Slade’s eyes. Slade watched as the younger man slowly pushed the pants down his hips and legs before kicking them off with bare feet, letting them fall into a puddle at Slade’s feet. Slade watched, the aching in his pants growing more intense as Dick slowly continued stripping away piece by piece of his clothing, revealing more and more olive skin marred in places by scars and fading bruises, thankfully mostly from sparring and training now that Dick rarely visited home. Slade found himself staring down at Dick’s naked figure, desire flowing through him, his eye trailing over every inch of bared skin as if hoping to memorize it. Finally he met Dick’s eyes, and that was when his breath caught in his throat. 

“Are you just going to stand and stare, or are you going to strip down like a good boy and crawl in here with me?” Dick purred, beckoning for Slade to get into bed. Slade barely noticed his hands undoing his belt and letting his pants fall around his ankles, toeing off his socks as he stripped off his shirt. He paused then, looking up at Dick for that brief moment of confirmation before he could make himself move forward. “Come on, big boy.” 

Finally Slade slipped out of the last piece of clothing on his body, leaving him almost completely bare in front of the younger man. Crawling into the bed Slade propped himself over the younger man, leaning down to take another kiss. Dick reached up, wrapping his arms around the older man’s neck, his legs circling up around Slade’s waist, bucking his hips up into the older man’s, making them both moan into the kiss. Almost without thinking Slade started rocking his hips into the younger man, desperate for the pleasure that came from the motion, loving the sounds that it drew from the younger man’s chest. 

“Slade, Slade, Slade, oh my God fuck shit Slade!” Dick whimpered into the kiss, his own hips moving against Slade’s rhythm, desperate for more. “Oh God Slade please...”

All at once the older man stopped, leaning over to reach for the lube and condoms he knew were waiting in the bedside table, ignoring the desperate whines of protest Dick let out at the loss of friction. Quickly Slade covered one finger with lube before spreading Dick’s legs a little further, taking a moment to admire the younger man’s flexibility, and pressing it teasingly to Dick’s entrance. The young vigilante let out a gasp of surprise at the sensation. Carefully Slade teased around the entrance pressing tentatively and pulling back repeatedly, pulling lusty sounds from the younger man until he finally bucked his hips into the touch, demanding more. It was Slade’s turn to chuckle, pressing carefully into Dick, drawing out a moan that made his erection twitch as he stretched around the older man’s finger. Once Dick had relaxed around him Slade started moving, drawing gasps and whines, slowly at first, then much faster until he had Dick pleading for more touch, more sensation, more pleasure. Carefully he inserted another finger, slowing his pace until he was sure that Dick had properly adjusted around the touch, then picking up the pace again, enjoying seeing the younger man breathless and out of touch with reality. After Dick had adjusted to another finger Slade pulled himself out entirely, lubing up his erection before positioning himself on top of the gasping mess of a young man laying spread out on his bedsheets. 

Slade made sure to make eye contact with Dick before proceeding, sure that Dick wanted it, but wanting affirmation before they moved any further. When Dick whined for more attention Slade smiled, slowly pressing into his lover, growling lustily at the sound of pleasured gratitude he received in return. He started a slow, even pace, low moans filling the air around them as he slowly picked up speed, the lust and need of the moment overwhelming them. Dick came first with a loud cry, his release landing on his own stomach as he gripped at the sheets around him. Slade’s orgasm followed shortly after with a moan, before his limbs went week and he rolled off of the younger man to lay beside him, panting, vision blurry. 

When he started to come down from his high he pulled the smaller man towards him, holding him carefully to himself. It was in moments like this that Slade found himself able to let go completely, and for a few moments at least, he didn’t have to think or worry about anything; he could just be. 

“Dick...” He murmured, pressing his lips against the younger man’s head. 

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” 

There was a long pause as their breathing mingled. Slade thought nothing of it until he found his lover growing tense in his arms. 

“W...what?” 

He could feel Dick struggling to push him away and loosened his arms, watching as he fumbled out of the bed, crawling across the floor, retrieving his clothing. 

“Where are you going?” Slade sat up, the sheets pooling around his hips. A feeling of dread started gathering in his gut, slowly fighting its way up his spine as he watched Dick scramble around in the dark, donning whatever articles of clothing he could find, throwing the rest into an open duffle bag in the corner. 

“I-I have to go. I mean, I think I should...fuck, I don’t know, I need to get out of here. I’ve been here for too long and the Bat’s already gonna be pissed and I just...Fuck I can’t do this anymore.” He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it messy and unkempt in its wake. Briefly his eyes ventured up to meet Slade’s, darting away just as quickly, a lump rising in his throat. His voice started trembling as he continued. “I’ve gotta go, so thanks but ya know I just...Shit, I’m leaving now so...bye or whatever.” 

He backed out of the room slowly, Slade sitting frozen in the middle of the bed, caught between wanting to get up and make the young man stay and understanding that that was wrong. He listened as Dick’s footsteps retreated across the apartment, hearing the muffled voice of the Frost who had apparently come home at some point and was sitting in the living room calling after the younger man. When the door slammed shut and Dick was finally gone Slade felt as if it had slammed right into his stomach, the shock wave echoing through him as he sat on the bed staring at the sliver of light that was pouring in through the door which Dick had left slightly ajar in his haste to leave. 

For less than a heartbeat Slade felt completely numb, stuck in the moment between the breaking point and the after math. Familiar feelings swiftly started to wash over him, self-loathing and regret seeming to worm their way between his internal organs before ripping and plundering mercilessly until he was sure that he was nothing but mush on the inside. He was vaguely aware of the Frost walking into the room and the lights coming on as she asked him something. He couldn’t make himself respond, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. 

The Grumbles plodded his way into the room and jumped up onto the bed and into Slade’s lap, staring up at him with wide questioning eyes, letting out a soft chirp and tilting his head slightly. This was when Slade realized that there were tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Slade!” The Frost snapped, waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. He looked up at her and watched her pause as she caught sight of the tears. “What happened?”

“He...he just left.”

“I can see that, why did he leave? God, are you okay?”

“N-no...Frost, I think I fucked up.” His voice broke as he said this, his eyebrows furrowing as he fought to maintain some semblance of composure. “I think I really fucked up.”

“Slade, tell me what happened.” There was thinly suppressed panic in her voice when she spoke and she moved another step closer hesitantly. 

“I...I told him that I love him...” 

“Oh,” the word came out like a sigh and she sat down on the bed next to him, her arms circling around him. “Oh Slade, it...it’ll be ok, he’s probably just, um. He probably just needs some time to think.”

“He said he couldn’t do this anymore.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, he’s young, he...he’ll get over it. He’s just a commitment-phobe. You know Dick, he’s...he’s flighty and-Oh God, shit, Slade, shhhh.” She took him into her arms as sobs wracked his body, his arms circling carefully around the small orange fur ball in his lap. “Should I call Wade? Do you need to talk to Wade?”

She didn’t wait for him to try to form an answer before dashing out of the room, leaving Slade with the Grumbles who was now chirping more frequently, placing his paws on the older man’s chest to prop himself up to Slade’s eye level. He reached up, scratching the cat behind his ears, sobs still tearing out of his chest, leaving him raw. He could hear the Frost speaking franticly in the living room now, moving back to the bedroom. She burst in, cell phone already extended to him, forcing him to take it. Wade was already talking before the phone reached his ear. 

“-to God, I’ll find that shit eating little asshole and tear him a new one!” 

“Wade,” Slade’s voice cracked again as he gripped the cell a little harder.

“Slade, everything’s gonna be okay, breathe for a hot second, okay? I’m gonna come over, I’m just getting dressed. No, Peter, not important, no, stop it! Fine, fine, I’ll wear socks, jeeze. Slade, what do you need? Ice cream right? People eat ice cream when they go through heart break. I’ll get some, what kind do you want?”

“Wade.”

“Do you want Peter to come? Or is that too weird? Peter says he’ll come if you want, but he doesn’t mind if you don’t want him there. Whatever you want, just tell me, I’m right here for you."

“Wade, please hurry,” Slade gasped.

“Right. Rightrightrightright, I’ll skip the ice cream, we’ll be there in a few minutes, okay? Just hang on, Slade, okay? I’m coming.” 

The line went dead and for a few minutes Slade just sat there with it still pressed against his ear, fingers buried in Solomon Grumbly’s fur, the Frost sitting behind him, forehead resting on his back. 

 

-Dick-

 

The minute he turned off his bike he felt like something went hollow in him. He paused for a moment, gazing up at the manor that loomed over him. He felt the same dread he had always felt before, but it felt distant, almost insignificant after what had just happened. Taking a deep breath he dismounted the bike and, readjusting the duffle bag across his back, started to make his way up the stairs to the front door.   
He struggled with his keys for a few minutes, fighting against the shadows to fit the key into the lock and make his way into the door. When he finally managed to get it open he flung the door open, a loud crash announcing his arrival to the manor. He slammed the door shut behind him, rage tearing through the hollow place in his chest. He kicked the closed door before turning around and storming through the main entrance, a few low lights giving him enough guidance to make it all the way to the stairs. He was starting to think about how much he hated all the ‘goddamned flights of stairs in this fucking god awful house’ when someone behind him spoke.

“Dick?”

He turned to see Alfred standing behind him, a smile spreading warmly across his face as their eyes met. 

“I didn’t know you were coming home today. What are you doing here so late? Is everything alright?”

“No, Alfred!” Dick snapped, catching them both off guard. The fire in his chest was burning his way through the rest of him and couldn’t be contained. “Nothing is okay! Nothing is fucking okay!”

“Well what’s wrong?” The butler asked after a brief pause, his voice even and practiced. 

“I fucked up, Alfred, that’s what’s wrong!” Dick roared, yanking his duffle off clumsily and throwing it against the wall. It was at that moment, looking down at himself, that he realized that, in the dark, he had pulled on one of Slade’s shirts instead of his own. Something felt like it was snapping in half in his chest and when he finally managed to look up again there were tears streaming down his cheeks. “Alfred, he told me he loved me.”

Panic rose swiftly as Dick realized that the confession had come out unintentionally. He hadn’t yet had the chance to come out to Alfred, and this was never how he had imagined telling the closest thing he had ever had to a father that he was gay. Eyes wide with terror, still overflowing with tears, he looked up at Alfred, who climbed the last few stairs, bringing himself to Dick’s level before pulling the younger man into his arms, cradling him the way he did when Dick was younger and would come running inside crying over a skinned knee or a broken toy. 

“And do you love him?”

“Yes,” Dick sobbed, burrowing into Alfred’s chest, arms circling around him. 

“So what did you tell him?” 

“I just...I just left, Alfred!”

“Oh, sweet boy...” Alfred sighed, running one hand over Dick’s wild, dark hair. 

Alfred made Dick a grilled cheese and ran him a hot bath before sending him to bed. That night Dick found he couldn’t sleep any more without Slade’s warmth in the bed next to him. It was well after sunrise before he finally managed to drift off into a shallow, restless, vodka induced sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now, assuming that you all don't hate me after that, I will start these notes by saying that there will be another update and soon, I promise! The next chapter is pretty much done I just need to go through some editing before I feel okay putting it up, so a week at the most, guys, I swear! As for my reasons for being MIA for so long, I don't really have anything good for you guys. I'm graduating in May, so I've mostly been dealing with my anxiety and the reality of 'true adulthood' that's swiftly approaching. I've been talking to a counselor for that among other things, but it's really taken a toll on my self esteem and motivation. But I've progressed so much and I'm so glad that you're all still with me so I promise, I'm going to try to update more often. I'll talk to you all soon, I'm sure. <3


	21. Taking the Plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred stages an intervention and Dick realizes what he has to do to make everything right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm a little late updating, so so so sorry!!! I've been fighting to keep up with midterms and get everything all edited and ready with this chapter. I know some of you are looking at it and see that this is the last chapter, but I can assure that this is not the last you will see of this story line for these two. I've decided that I'm going to start a little series and this is the first installment. I don't know exactly how everything is going to pan out but you will definitely be getting more I promise you guys!

There was a steady pounding at the door. Or was it in his head? Dick was having a hard time telling, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to bother getting up to find out. After Alfred had left him to go to bed the night before Dick had staggered his way up into his room and dug out the handle of vodka he kept stashed at the back of his closet. He didn’t seem to recall most of what happened after that, but he could guess the rest. 

“Dick!” Alfred’s voice was lightly muffled through the door, though not enough to prevent the sharp spike of pain that seemed to drive through Dick’s forehead. Groaning he pulled the covers over his face. At least that answered the question of where the pounding was coming from. “Dick, I’m going to come in ok?”

“Alfred, go away, just let me die.”

Either Alfred didn’t hear or didn’t care because Dick heard the door knob turning and Alfred’s typical sounds of disgust as he walked into the dirtiest room in the manor. 

“Don’t clean anything,” Dick groaned from under his covers.

“Dick, you’re not going to spend all your time at home like this. Is that vodka?”

“Don’t touch that! ‘S mine!”

“Dick, come out from under your blankets, you need to come downstairs and eat something, it’s past noon!”

“Alfred, don’t you know wallowing when you see it?”

“I know very well what wallowing looks like, Dick, I’ve been privy to more than just your charming pre-teen years if you’ll remember. That, however, does not mean that I’m inclined to let it continue.” Reaching down he yanked the blankets off of Dick and yanked the young man up-right, into a sitting position, stooping down to meet Dick’s eye. “How much did you have to drink last night?”

“I dunno, where’s the line on the bottle?” Dick mumbled, rubbing his eyes and leaning forward onto his knees. 

“The line on the...?”

“I always mark where I left off on the bottle with sharpie.”

“Dear God, Dick, how did you drink that much in one evening?”

“I honestly don’t remember, but can we lower the shouting level? My brain is already half mush.”

“Go get in the shower.”

“But-“

“Now!” 

“Ung, fine, just please stop yelling!”

Alfred helped Dick get up and into the bathroom, where he made the younger man down a giant glass of water before closing the door behind him. Dick was sure that he wasn’t going to make it out of the bathroom without doing what Alfred wanted so after weighing his options for a moment he sighed and gave in, reaching into the shower to turn the water on. 

Once he was in the shower he found himself wondering why he had thought that this was a bad idea. He sighed as the warm water poured over his skin, wondering absently how every inch of his body could hurt so much. Leaning forward he braced himself against the shower wall, letting the water wash over him. 

The throbbing in his head started to subside a little bit, leaving Dick with nothing to think about but the events of the night before. Suddenly he could see why the shower was a bad idea again. He sighed as the water flowed over his bare skin, his mind running through what had happened despite his attempts to distract himself with just about anything else. 

His heart wrenched abruptly at the memory of the way it had felt to have Slade’s hands all over his body. He’d been in a lot of flings and semi-relationships, a few real relationships, but he’d never been touched the way that Slade always touched him. Or looked at the way Slade always seemed to look at him. 

‘Why the fuck did I leave? Why the fuck did I do that?’ He closed his eyes against the water, regretting it immediately when all he could see on the back of his eyelids was Slade gazing back at him the way he had watched Dick when he had left in a panic the night before. He felt as though a cold, clammy hand was twisting in his gut, which did nothing to relieve the nausea that was already resting there. ‘He hates me now. It’s over and it’s all my fault.’ 

Lashing out he knocked everything off of the ledge, shampoo bottles and soaps falling loudly around his feet. The echoes hit his brain like a sledge hammer and he groaned, head throbbing. 

As he stared down at the shower supplies at his feet, everything hurting very loudly at him, he realized that all he wanted to do was to go home, and now he couldn’t. He just wanted to curl up on the couch in one of Slade’s sweaters and take a nap with Grumbly. He wanted to sit at the counter and watch Slade make lunch, which usually just meant staring at the older man’s ass. He wanted to go to bed tonight feeling completely safe and warm with Slade in the bed next to him. The last thing in the world that he wanted was to go to bed in the miserable pit that was his room in Wayne Manor. 

He managed to clean himself up and make it out of the shower, refusing to look into the mirror, glad that it was, for the most part, fogged over. He managed to scrub the greater taste of morning breath and vodka out of his mouth before making his way back into his room to get dressed. As he pulled on clean underwear he caught sight of Slade’s shirt laying in a puddle next to the bed. Reaching down he pulled it up to his nose taking a deep breath, glad to find that it still held onto the way he smelled. He stuffed the shirt under his pillow and finished getting dressed before creeping down to the kitchen to where Alfred was making chocolate chip pancakes for him. 

“You are not going to stay here and drink yourself to death,” Alfred said, firmly but not without care as he set a stack of the pancakes down in front of Dick. “If you’re going to stay here I’m not going to watch you pine over some man.”

“I don’t pine after anyone,” Dick grumbled around a bite of the pancakes. Alfred gave him a look that he pointedly ignored. There was a long pause while Dick fought to keep himself under control. “Alfred, what am I gonna do?”

“Well, Dick, as far as I can see you have two choices. You can either go back and try to fix what happened or you can accept that it’s over forever and move on.” Dick huffed, not liking what he heard, making Alfred chuckle. “And from what I can tell you had better go back.”

Dick remained silent for a long time, picking at the food on his plate, not making eye contact. He knew, of course that Alfred was right, but he didn’t like to admit it. He spent most of the rest of the day hanging out with Alfred, helping with chores and running errands together. Dick made sure to slip away from the main part of the house before Bruce would be coming home and hid away in his room, dismayed to find that Alfred had taken away his handle of vodka. Rolling his eyes he dug around in a couple of piles of dirty laundry before pulling out a half full bottle of whiskey. 

It was sure to be a long night and he would be damned if he was going to spend it agonizing over the decision he was directly trying to avoid. Sighing he crawled into bed, taking a swig out of the bottle. He sat there for a long time feeling the whisky burn its way down and settle in the pit of his stomach before sending a warm glow up his spine. Leaning his head back against the wall he closed his eyes. 

After a minute he opened his eyes, reaching under his pillow and pulling out the shirt he had accidentally stolen from Slade. Burying his face in it again he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He could practically see the older man and the way he had always looked at him, the way his eye crinkled at the corner when he smiled. He vaguely remembered a time when he hadn’t known that Slade Wilson’s face could look anything but harsh and severe. That seemed so strange now, after having seen how gentle and caring that same face could look. His heart ached thinking about that face and wondering if he was ever going to see Slade again. He supposed that he was going to have to drop the class that they shared if he wasn’t going to get Slade’s forgiveness. 

He kept breathing in the familiar smell of Slade as though it would soothe the painful aching in his chest and throat, knowing that it was only making it worse. Coming up for air for a moment he took another swig of whiskey, thankful for a burn that wasn’t emotional to distract from the one that made him feel like he was drowning. That night he passed out, the shirt still pressed firmly over his nose, in a semi-drunken slumber. 

The next day went by in much the same way, Dick following Alfred around all day and helping around the house with whatever he could. He caught Alfred gazing at him in more than moderate concern a few times and it made Dick’s stomach twist with guilt. He drank that night, knowing it would make it worse, but not sure how else to get to sleep. He had tried to fall asleep without the alcohol, but hadn’t been able to stop thinking long enough to even doze off and wound up making everything worse. Every drink went down a little extra bitter just because he could already see the disappointment on Alfred’s face in the morning.   
Without fail Alfred did come knocking the next day around noon, but he seemed oddly determined about something. He walked into the room after knocking twice and told Dick to get out of bed. Mumbling in confusion Dick did as we was told, sensing that Alfred was in no mood to argue. Dick hurried through his shower, afraid to make the butler angry. When he finally stumbled back into his room to get dressed Alfred was standing there, arms crossed, a fully packed duffle bag resting at his feet. 

“Alfred, what-“

“You are going to go back to your man,” Alfred cut him off, his tone not allowing for any sass. “You are going to apologize, and if he has even a half a brain he is going to forgive you and take you back. I refuse to watch you wander around this house like a ghost the way you have for the last couple of days. Get dressed so I can drive you to where you need to be.”

With that Alfred picked up the bag and left the room. Dick briefly thought about trying to escape, but he knew from experience that the butler would be waiting right outside the door for him. He started pulling on whatever was handy, yanking on his normal pair of boots and a pair of black jeans. He wasn’t terribly worried about what all had or hadn’t been packed, he knew that a good portion of what he normally wore had been left at Slade’s apartment in his rush to leave. He was digging for a shirt when a thought crossed his mind and he yanked Slade’s shirt out from under the pillow where it had been stashed and pulled it over his head. Pausing before he left the room he pulled the bottom of his shirt up to his nose and took a deep breath, letting the smell of Slade wash over him, slowing his heart beat slightly. 

Sure enough when he left the room Alfred was waiting outside the door for him. He handed Dick his jacket before turning around and making his way down the hall, Dick practically jogging to keep up. Their trip was, for the most part, silent, with only Dick navigating from time to time. It struck him as a little funny that he was guiding the man who had practically raised him to the apartment building of one of the most well-known mercenaries in the world. 

When Alfred pulled up to the front of the building he unlocked the doors to let Dick out. “I’ll stay down here on the off chance that this man is stupid enough to let you go. Text me when you know if you’ll be staying or not.” Just before the younger man could close the car door, Alfred looked him in the eye and said “We’ll talk about the fact that you’re living with another man the next time you come home for a visit.”

Dick’s heart clenched hard and he nodded before he closed the door, walking away, heart pounding harder with every step up to the front doors, then across the lobby and into the elevator. He didn’t remember the ride up to Slade’s floor ever having taken so long before, but it seemed to take forever now. 

The entire ride up all he wanted was to get to where he was going. But when he finally found himself standing in front of Slade’s door all he wanted to do was make a run for it. He could hear what was probably the Frost and Slade talking inside and it made his heart clench all over again. When everything was said and done he was probably going to need a trip to a heart doctor-what were they called again? Cardio-something, right? ‘Cardio’ is heart, right? Pull it together Dick. 

Taking out the key that Slade had given him forever ago he unlocked the door as quietly as possible and slipped quietly into the apartment, hoping to go unnoticed for at least a second. He wanted to let the familiar atmosphere wash over him, to pretend, at least for another moment, that he was just coming home, that there was no chance that he would be asked to leave. 

The Frost was laying on the couch, flipping through a magazine, responding to something Slade must have said from the kitchen. Grumbly, upon spotting him, gave a small, excited chirp and ran to the door to rub across Dick’s ankles. The Frost looked up to see where Grumbly went and stopped speaking mid-word, eyes making contact with Dick’s. He was surprised to see what looked like happy surprise in her eye, but didn’t have time to think more about it as a jarringly familiar voice grew closer. 

“What did you say, Frost?” He could hear Slade’s footsteps growing closer, his whole body seeming to go cold all at once. “What are you looking at?”

And then there he stood. When his eyes met Slade’s Dick was sure that he wasn’t going to be able to speak. Slade’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise, his eye seeming to peer right through Dick. The older man stood there, staring at him, surprise evidently coloring his expression. Dick couldn’t resist giving him a quick once over, his stomach twisting strangely, a mix between nerves and excitement as the realization that it was Slade, it was actually Slade in real life standing across from him, dawned on him. If he reached out he could touch the man he was afraid to admit he had fallen in love with. That was all he wanted, was to reach out and hold onto Slade and refuse to let go. He wanted to say something to make Slade reply and hear the low, warm, familiar tone of the older man’s voice speaking specifically to him again. 

That was when Dick, who had been so sure that he wasn’t going to be able to speak, started jabbering away, his palms sweating, heart trying to crawl into his mouth, words pouring out of his mouth rapid-fire, despite the seemingly eternal lack of air in his lungs. 

“Look I-I-I’m really sorry about...you know, the...the other night. I don’t-I didn’t like...I don’t’ wanna...live without you. I mean, not like, I wanna die, but just...like...I don’t know how to...” Tears were rolling down his cheeks and his voice was choked and shaking and he hated ever word, but he couldn’t make it stop. He met Slade’s eye and for a brief moment he thought he saw a tear forming in his eye. At the sight of this Dick forced himself to look away, terrified of realizing just how much damage he had done, his throat closing even more. “I understand if...you want me to leave...and if you hate me now...But I really don’t wanna leave, so please...please let me stay...I wanna come home.”

The last words came out choked and uncertain as he tried to stop it half way through. There was a long pause filled with Dick’s sniffling and the sound of Solomon Grumbly purring as he rubbed against Dick’s ankles. 

Dick was trying to wipe the tears out of his eyes when motion made him look up. That was when he saw the tears streaming down Slade’s cheeks. The sight made him feel like he had been punched in the stomach; like he was going to puke, like he couldn’t breathe without enormous pain. Slade reached out and pulled Dick to his chest, strong arms holding the younger man tightly. That was when Dick allowed a sob to break through, his hands reaching up to grasp at Slade’s shirt, holding tightly as though he was afraid someone would take the man from him. 

The Grumbles mad a confused sound up at them after a while, looking back and forth at the two men. Slade chuckled softly, wiping away the tears on his cheeks before pulling away to pick the big orange ball of fluff up, cooing as he held the cat at Dick’s level. “Look, Grumbly. Dick’s home.”


End file.
